Hollow Years
by manic-intent
Summary: John Constantine, after Rebel Heart, manages to get into trouble again. Waking up in a dungeon is not fun, and worst of all, there isn't a cigarette in sight...This is the latest in my long Rewritten series, where Zak is leader of the Black Talons.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: John Constantine belongs to Vertigo's Hellblazer

Disclaimer: John Constantine belongs to Vertigo's Hellblazer. This story sort of continues loosely after 'Rebel Heart' from Seven Times of One, which was set even more loosely somewhere in the Hellblazer timeline. It's at least before the asylum bit by that new artist who doesn't give a fig about Constantine himself. That, in my opinion, has not existed and will not exist. There we go. 

Briefly, in summary of the story before this, so far Constantine, before the Author decided to write him, was quite probably in that mess after Kit had left him – a homeless drunkard who wandered the more grimy streets of London, which means that all the events around 1994 don't exist either. However, in this case it appears that the degree of destituteness had not as yet reached the state that he could only steal alcohol, not enter pubs and such. Which means he hasn't faced the Vampire King…whatever. Why are we quibbling anyway? This is for my amusement…

After that, the fanfiction takes a mad tangent away from the actual plot. The Sandman Daniel, having to retrieve one of his [father's] stones from another world, enlisted Constantine's help, as the Dream King couldn't enter the fractured, magic-torn world of FR. Constantine, enjoying his own brand of magic, was the best candidate for the job – since Daniel _did_ have something that John wanted – sanctuary in the Dreaming, where the First of the Fallen wouldn't be able to get to him. 

There were a lot of adventures with rather familiar characters, then John completed his task and returned to the Dreaming, and eventually to his pub. There, he realized that the otherworldly, huge panther that was somehow a citizen of the Dreaming, tied to the stone, had accompanied him, and insisted on staying. Not one to argue with a creature who had bigger teeth and claws that he did, Constantine didn't object. As was normal, people possessing the ability to ignore that which just couldn't _possibly_ be there, no one noticed a large panther tagging along behind a dirty drunkard, so it turned out quite all right…

Now to the story proper. Yes, as I'd hinted at last year, I'm writing a story that follows the plot of the second Baldur's Gate game – the Shadows of Amn. I won't be reusing the original characters. This time, I promise not to make it seem so easy…there's no too-powerful artifact now, anyway. Enjoy the story.

--

Prologue

To his deep, unmitigated disgust, John Constantine, the most hated man on earth, the Laughing Magician, generally considered a high Magus and an all-round pain in the arse to foes and on occasion, friends, woke up in a cage that had gone out of fashion a very long time ago. It resembled an elongated birdcage, complete with a domed finish, just barely enough for him to remain in his current supine position, if he was twisted into an 'S' shape. He was. His back hurt. That didn't improve his mood, nor did the fact that John had no goddamned idea how he had ended up in this situation.

Slowly, with an air of grim meticulousness, he took stock of his surroundings. The cage looked…_used_. Rust clung on halfheartedly to the bars, like schoolboys to their mothers on the way to Sunday school in a church with a boring vicar, but the heavy lock to the single cage door, from this angle, looked rather oiled and well kept. There was the scent of burned flesh – John hoped it wasn't his, because other than the back, he didn't feel any much different, yet –dried, old blood, sweat, and stale piss. 

From what he could see as he turned his head, the cage was on a mounted square platform over a shallow rectangular pit near a metal walkway that passed by other cages, on their own platforms, over their own pits. There were some thick cables and pipes in the pit, gray-brown like rotting intestines. Some cages had inhabitants – actually, only two seemed to hold things that looked vaguely alive, some had remains of inhabitants, and some were empty – not that the fact helped, other than suggesting that if he didn't get the hell out of here soon, he might get to meet a certain eldest sister of the Endless, and quickly. The walls were grimy stone, as was what he could see of the ceiling. There didn't seem to be anyone in the immediate area who vaguely resembled a guard – i.e. generally menacing with that make-my-day attitude of the underpaid with permission to kill dissidents.

So then, where was he? John tried to remember if he'd pissed off anyone rich enough to maintain this sort of medieval, dark-and-gloomy dungeon, complete with far-off, tortured screams and the ominous clanking and clinking of chains. The getup was so…stereotyped that John half-expected some clone of Steven Spielberg or whatever to leap out from the nearest pit and yell 'Cut!'

Whimsically, he waited. 

Nope, no hope of that, sunshine. This is real. Time to try and get up then?

Footsteps seemed to be approaching. Quickly, John feigned unconsciousness. As he forced his breathing to slow, he noted that he was still wearing a trenchcoat, shirt, tie and loafers, like what he had been fitted with the last he remembered. He had been in a pub where the beer was good and cheap, and the barkeep was tolerable, and he had been scolding the cat for something…where _was _that cat anyway?

The person approaching him stopped in front of his cage, then flicked fingernails against the bars of his cage. John decided to continue feigning sleep. It was a useful thing to do when trying to decide if a certain person meant well or meant harm – though admittedly you couldn't see said person's expression, which would help, and whether said person had implements about which could cause bodily harm or worse, which would help even more. 

"Are you awake?"

The voice was coldly curious, and managed to appear both aloofly neutral and deeply malevolent at the same time. It was also, oddly enough, in a rather pleasant baritone. John found himself wondering if the speaker could sing well, maybe one of them wankerish songs called 'country western' by many and which he called unmusical braying, then had to force himself not to betray even a hint of a snicker. Sleep. He was asleep…

The next few moments were very crowded, and very painful. John later remembered it like this, especially during a bad dream: first, something that shocked and burned at the same time hit him in the chest. Five somethings, in fact. Then bright bursts of red blossomed like spurts of blood across his eyelids, and naturally he sprang to his feet, exacerbating the pain in his back. Thirdly, it didn't help that he hit his head hard against the bars, instinctively flinched away, and scraped his hand badly against the other bars, not to mention possibly doing permanent damage to the sleeve of his beloved trenchcoat.

Wildly, he found the speaker, who was observing everything with detached, nearly scientific interest. "You bloody wanker!"

"Hardly bloody." His tormentor commented coolly. He was a rather tall…humanoid. He looked human, but something didn't quite suggest that. Perhaps it was the weird blue markings on his face, or the crimson eyes that seemed to be trying to bore holes through John's brain, or the unnatural poise that John vaguely remembered having seen somewhere before. Some sort of tight skullcap of sorts covered his head, with steel stitching along the borders, such that from a distance he would resemble some deranged copy of Frankenstein. Other than that he wore some sort of plain, obviously medieval leather armor and dark breeches, with no weapons that John could make out. It wasn't particularly necessary.

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded, his hand bleeding gently. He considered using some magic to get out of the cage, but a gut feeling strongly suggested that it wouldn't work in this particular case, or worse, blow up in his face. Literally. Well, he'd been in worse shite before…

Naturally the person ignored his question. "You _are_ interesting, John Constantine. I know who you are, out-worlder, your family, your history, and your life. I must profess a certain curiosity to see how demon blood would affect your constitution…"

"You ain't the first one," John didn't look surprised. Heard that, done that, drunk the booze, kissed the girl, stole the fags. Speaking of fags, he realized that he was craving some – an annoying, pervasive thirst that threatened to invade his self-control. How long had he been here? Wherever he was?

"True enough." The person raised his hands and began weaving some oddly graceful pattern into the air that rather resembled a more elaborate version of an infinity eight, chanting with measured tones as he did so. John knew offensive magic when he saw it, even if he didn't know this particular spell, and he unconsciously flatted himself against the back of his cage, racking his brain for a quick defensive counter, any counter…

With a roar, amber-orange fire whirled into existence before the person's hands, and screamed towards him. John yelled and turned, shielding his face with his hands, even if by the heat of it and the speed of it, he knew his much abused body was going to spend the rest of its existence as a rather greasy, unidentifiable stain in an unknown dungeon. The fire reached him, and it _hurt_, oh gods, a searing pain that _erupted _from every pore on his skin, and he screamed until his throat hurt as well, but oddly enough – he wasn't _burning_. The fire engulfed him, and the pain was intensely, fiercely maddening, but he wasn't _on fire_…

As abruptly as it had come, the fire dissipated. John registered that he had curled up in a whimpering, fetal position on the stained floor of the cage. Cautiously, he raised his head, shuddering as he realized that there was no evidence of fire at all on his clothes or on his skin. _What the hell? _He felt a highly irrational and unexplainably masculine surge of pride that he hadn't lost control over his bowels, and perhaps this caused him to be cocky – or stupid - enough to stagger to his feet and gasp, "You dickless little son of a bitch! Let me out of here, damn you!"

The person watched him with the same scientific curiosity. "Your blood makes you strong. Perhaps…_yes_…perhaps you are what I'd been searching for."

His hands began to dance again, in the air, and this time, John decided this time he wasn't feeling proud enough to stand up and 'take it like a man', as it were. Before the hurt came, he curled back into a protective ball. Perhaps it wouldn't help, but as the spells descended on him, with the soul-searing pain, he found himself trying to coil into himself, as it were, nails digging into his palm until they drew blood. He tried not to give the person the satisfaction of watching him scream and beg, but he couldn't help the former. Well, one out of two ain't bad.

He never knew pretty streams of multicolored light could _hurt _that much before.

He never knew that lightning could burst out of a vortex a foot above your head with a few muttered words and a gesture, that wouldn't fry you and send you into blessed oblivion, but cause every nerve in your body to shriek in agony.

He never knew that with a wave someone could seemingly turn his blood ice-cold, such that his teeth chattered and his heart constricted so painfully…so painfully…

He never knew…

It was with great relief that, after losing track of time during the torments, John found his body was finally shutting down, though whether into unconsciousness or death he could not really tell, and at this point, he didn't really care. He tried to push his consciousness into the Dreaming, where he could possibly get some help, or at least relief, but there was a barrier in the way that hadn't been there before. Helplessly, what one could call his spirit clawed at it with insubstantial fingers of thought, slammed immaterial fists against it, but it stayed firm. As he sank into darkness John heard indistinct noises of a fight brewing outside his cage, angry words from his tormentor, then finally, a blessed oblivion.

--

Little notes:

__

Eldest Sister of the Endless: The Eldest Sister is Death. She's a really cool character…go read the two books by Neil Gaiman – The High Cost of Living and Time of your life.

__

Demon Blood: In Original Sins (Intensive Care), Constantine managed to get a (somewhat unwilling, on his part, but the demon threatened to eat babies) blood transfusion from the demon Nergal. So in this 'fic, he still has the demon blood inside him.

__

Constantine's language: I know that in 'Rebel Heart' I winged an accent, but I gave up here. Too annoying to try and maintain, and besides, for Trenchcoat Brigade/Original Sins, he doesn't have much of one. Even the 'luv' shouldn't be used so much as I would here, but ah heck.


	2. Better places to wake up in

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Better places to wake up in

The first thing John Constantine noticed when he woke up and tried to roll off the bed was the fact that there _wasn't _any bed. Cursing furiously under his breath as he rubbed his forehead where he had hit it against the bars, he gingerly sat up, disorientation washing over him for a brief, hesitant moment, and then he pragmatically scanned the immediate area for his tormentor. When he realized that the bastard wasn't anywhere in sight, he breathed a little easier, and allowed himself to slump back against the cage in relief. Right. Now to try and get out of here. Before _he _comes back.

With that depressing thought in mind, John scrambled up and looked closely at the lock – it was, as he'd observed before, annoyingly solid. Gingerly he reached through the bars and attempted to probe it, but with nothing to use as a lockpick, that wasn't much of a help. It didn't mean that he _gave up_, of course – John spent the next few moments alternatively cursing at the lock or trying to tug it off, then summed up the situation by viciously kicking the door and stubbing his toe. Pain _and_ frustration.

Wearily he leaned against the bars. There _had_ been a fight – there were several rather grisly, smoking remains of something that looked abstractly human, as well as a highly suspicious, neat pile of what looked like fine sand. The surrealistic quality of the carnage reminded him unwillingly of Emma…the artist that he had lived with, once, but before the memories got to him, he shoved them away. The clothing worn by the people helped – and also aided John in understanding _where _he was. Shite. Chain mail was the only thing not blackened out of recognition…and John Constantine slowly remembered the _last_ place where he'd been with this sort of fashion. His ribs remembered, too, and ached, almost in protest.

"The Underdark," he said aloud, almost portentously, then added, with feeling, "Shite."

"Not the Underdark. I don't know where we are, but it's not there."

Startled, John whirled in the direction of the voice. It was somewhere behind him – but other cages blocked the view. He could indistinctly make out a human shape – and by the timbre of the voice, probably a female one. In the cage next to her there was yet another human shape. Funny that he hadn't noticed them before, but then again, he had been…_occupied_.

"How should you know?" The other human, by the voice, also female, spoke.

"I've been in the Underdark before. There's something about the…maybe you could call it ambience."

"Ambience?" the other person sounded curious and disbelieving.

"Ye-es…sort of like the nagging sentiment that there's a few million tons of rock ready to fall on my head without warning. I'm not getting it here."

"Any idea how to get out, luv?" John automatically asked, then squeezed his eyes shut as his ears caught up with his mouth. "Damn. Stupid thing to say. If you lot _knew_ how to get out…"

"We'd be out already," the second female finished wryly for him. "And no, I don't even know why we're here. I believe we're…experiments due to our special natures. I'm a tiefling. My friend here's a werewolf. We just met a few minutes ago, after all that fighting, when her cage suddenly appeared here. You are…?"

"Human, luv, last I checked. Some people seem to find it surprising." Earlier memories of a certain ticked-off weapon master surfaced, and had to be stomped down. John didn't know what a tiefling was, and said so.

"Tiefling means that I'm plane-touched, sparrow. Have some demon or fiend somewhere in my family tree. There's an aura that normal people find mildly disturbing at the best. And no, I don't smell of brimstone, and the worst my breath can do is stink on some mornings."

"Sparrow?" John blinked. Now he was, to his relief, on more familiar ground. He'd certainly heard of demon-influenced families before. After all, if angels did it…

"I'm hoping you'd find it as annoying as I find 'luv', _sparrow_," the tiefling replied tartly, and then laughed merrily. Her voice was charmingly musical, a contrast with the werewolf's, which was pitched slightly lower than a normal 'female' voice, and seemed at times to carry some undertone of a primal growl. 

The werewolf sniggered. "Anyway. Back to the question. Are the three of us the only remotely sane ones here?"

John looked around with a critical, callous eye. The other inhabitants of the cages were either dead, or seemingly so, or not worth considering as help in any form, even as decoys. Not all were prone on the floor – some slumped against the bars, gibbering to themselves, or just shivering violently. None responded to the question, anyway. But it might make sense to let some out…a distraction for anything else in here, perhaps? 

It might sound inhumane to any other, but John believed in survival, namely, _his_ survival. A particularly violent, bitter life, even for a Constantine, had hinged on this will to live. Even if he did something that seemed suicidal, there was always a way out, always a last card, a last cruel smile, and a last deal to make and betray. And with so many supernatural forces that would drool to think of his death, staying alive had become his one encompassing obsession. Actually, he did know that one day, some day, he would have to die. But hey, live one day at a time…

"I don't know about _sane_, luv. Been in an asylum before." John tried tugging at the lock again, half-heartedly. "But it seems so. The lock's solid on this cage."

"There isn't even a lock on this thing," the werewolf said disgustedly, and John heard her beating on her cage in frustration. "No _door_."

"And this thrice bedamned cage is magicked. I tried the 'Knock' spell on it earlier. No such luck." The tiefling flicked fingers against her door, by the sound of the irritable, metallic clinking, then heaved a sigh. "And I can't see your lock, sparrow, or I'd try it on yours…though I'm not sure if this cage was spelled up to prevent people inside from casting spells on things outside it, so I'd rather not try."

"Call me John. John Constantine." He grinned at his private joke. If he was stranded on the world he thought he was, the other two wouldn't get it. 

A few of the British spy of the movie's gadgets wouldn't do much harm though.

"Y'vair Cirrhal is the name I go by at this moment," the tiefling acknowledged. 

"The bard?" the werewolf sounded pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. I walk out of the playhouse where I was performing for a breath of air, and the next moment, I wake up in a dungeon. I thought this sort of thing only happened in songs. Should have brought my notebook." 

"Same thing happened to me – sort of. Was running through a forest and…well. They didn't even give me any chance to fight. My name's K'yanae Do'Urden." This last was spoken with a sort of flat finality, as if she expected everyone to know it, but wouldn't particularly appreciate explosive squeals of recognition.

"That explains a lot," Y'vair commented neutrally. "The werewolf bit, why you speak common, and why your skin seems rather lighter than what I'd thought…well met then, K'yanae! Now, our sparrow's gone rather quiet…"

John had been waiting rather patiently through all this, since he had no idea what was going on. He considered breaking the news to them, then sighed to himself. The feeling of absolute dislocation, though not unfamiliar, was as usual, extremely irritating, as though he'd left something important behind and was floating indeterminately in some sort of Limbo. 

"Are you both from this world?" he approached the situation unobtrusively. The answer was obvious, so it should lead to a question…

There was a startled silence. 

"I did hear…whoever he was addressing you as an out-worlder," the werewolf K'yanae said cautiously. "Oh dear."

"And to think some time ago I called my life boring," Y'vair chuckled delightedly, apparently not at all adversely affected by their current oppressive surroundings. "Welcome to Toril, John Constantine."

"I think I've heard the name 'Do'Urden' before," John frowned, then it dawned on him. "Any relation to Zaknafein or Drizzt Do'Urden?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from K'yanae. "Well I should have," she finally spoke, "Zaknafein's my father. Drizzt was his first son, long dead."

"Your _father_? Odd. Luv, unless I've been gone longer than I should have been, the last I saw of Zaknafein was in the Dreaming, and Drizzt was still a kid."

"The Dreaming? I've never heard of such a land, sparrow…and I've traveled quite a lot, gossip adores me."

"You've been inside it, if you sleep and dream, luv."

"I've never heard Father say anything about…wait, you met his dream-self in that place, then? With Drizzt?"

"No…augh. It's a long story. Can we try getting out of here first?" John felt that they were drifting away from what was important, i.e. getting out of the dungeon before the skullcapped bastard with a bad attitude came back.

"Sure, if you have any idea how to," K'yanae replied dryly. 

"My music for a portal spell…" Y'vair sighed. "Damnit. And any summoned aid I can think of probably wouldn't even be able to help you bend the bars."

"Summoned aid I can think of would demand a soul in payment, or something too expensive." John wondered where the cat was again. 

"You're a mage?" K'yanae seemed surprised. "Then can't you use the knock spell? It's simple enough. Or is your door warded as well?"

"I can't find any wards on it. _What _knock spell?" John remembered who and where he was. "Wrong world, wrong magic, luv. My magic ain't the showy sort. I think I can call a friend. If it's even listening."

He didn't know exactly how to call the cat…Guenhwyvar, was it? But a large part of magic was believing that the mumbo-jumbo worked, so well, no harm trying. Hopefully. John shut his eyes and concentrated on the patches of darkness that blossomed across his vision, then tried to reach outwards again, to the Dreaming. There was the now-familiar sensation of mental detachment, a loosening of pressure, almost, in his mind, and his breathing slowed, physical body relaxing, clenched fingers uncurling, head drooping down. He was not surprised to find that the wall before the Dreaming was still there, as solid as ever. This time, instead of pounding against it, he tried to call _through_ it, to the cat. Maybe it'd gone inside there when he got kidnapped. Maybe the wall would allow creatures from the inside to come out, or maybe he could just try to get it to call the Dream King.

Scratch that. Aid from that particular family wasn't really worth having. The price was usually too high, or so unusual as to make him regret it later.

Hopefully he waited, and strained dream-eyes in the hope of actually catching some sort of glimpse of the Dreaming, some flicker of blue sky, or the beautiful hues of Fiddler's Green, perhaps, or maybe even the gloomily gothic, stately castle. No, just a dull gray, impenetrable, vastly extensive barrier between the Dreaming and the half-awake dusk which was a sort of void. It was dangerous to his sanity for him to linger too long, as the link to his body might be broken, so he returned to his body regretfully. Damn the Dream King – why couldn't he have made his gift tamper-proof?

He opened his eyes, and heard a blessedly familiar rumbling purr around knee-level. The surge of joy, totally unexpected, made his knees weaken and his throat constrict... "Cat!" he sank down, putting him about eye-to-eye with the huge black panther which was trying to poke its large nose through the bars. "Where did _you_ go? Never been so glad to see anything in my life…"

"What did you call, sparrow?" Y'vair called from behind him.

"A friend, like I said, luv." John reached out and rubbed the panther behind its ears, and the purr deepened ecstatically. "Missed you too," he murmured in a softer voice. Then louder, "Can you get me out of here?"

The panther glanced at him mildly, as if reproaching him with huge green eyes for his lack of faith, then reared up and shoved at the doors with heavy paws. The old hinges creaked in protest, like his joints did sometimes on a cold day when the heater broke down. John grasped hold of the bars of the door quickly, and the panther growled as it pushed its entire weight against it.

It took several tries before the hinges finally gave, and the cat immediately sprang on him, enthusiastically licking his face, huge paws firmly planted on his chest. John swatted at its nose halfheartedly, and his head throbbed with renewed fervor as it banged again against the bars, but the cat ignored the gesture. It weighed at least twice as much as John did, anyway, and John had a feeling that even if he tried to hurt it, his efforts would be of as much effect as if a fly were to attack a human. "Gerroff! Augh…stop that! Right now!"

Finally the panther padded out of the cage, stretching luxuriously. John wiped his face on his sleeve, sneezed and followed, also stretching, then cracked his knuckles. "Right. Where are you two?"

"Well, if you walk a little…" K'yanae suggested with exaggerated earnestness.

"Hey, you want my help, luv, you'd better be nicer to me." John grinned in their general direction, his good-humor returning. Freedom, even conditional freedom in this case, did that to a person. Eventually he reached the cages which housed K'yanae and Y'vair. They weren't all that different from his…maybe he could stage a repeat performance.

"I doubt you'd be able to force this cage open like yours, sparrow," Y'vair tapped the bars of her cage, as if reading his mind. "There should be keys around here somewhere."

"As to mine…we could try bending the bars. They're just about strong enough to keep me from bending them, but with your help, it might work." K'yanae nodded to him. Seeing his look of cynical skepticism, she grinned cockily. "Being a werewolf has its perks." 

John shrugged. "What harm can it do, luv? At the most, I'd just pull a muscle." He took hold of the bars she gripped.

"Have you no faith, out-worlder? Right. One…two…three…" K'yanae's amber eyes seemed to flare, and John could have sworn her hair tried to grow longer as the muscles in her seemingly slender arms bunched. Her low snarl of effort was _definitely_ not human, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck try to rise to attention. At his feet, the panther growled softly.

They paused for a breather as K'yanae thoughtfully examined the slightly bent bars. John took the opportunity to further examine his companions as he breathed heavily and as the panther decided to lie down on his foot.

Y'vair wore what looked like a leather tank top and patched trousers over a decidedly voluptuous figure. It was quite obvious she was not human either – human eyes couldn't be _that_ shade of emerald green, nor should it have silver flecks in it. Human hair couldn't be so silky, like cat's fur, or that shade of rich dark chocolate that matched the lightly tanned skin. Humans didn't have furred ears pointed in the manner of a household feline, not slender like an elf's, and humans _unquestionably_ did not have polished small ram's horns curling out from their skulls, so dark as to be nearly black. He stared at her, and she snickered as she noticed – it was about then that he realized she had a tail as well, resembling that of a lion, of a dark tawny hue with a tuft at the end. John was amused to find a bit of him describing Y'vair as rather attractive but no rare beauty, and stored that thought for later.

K'yanae rather resembled her father in way of features, especially the determined set of the jaw, but was beautiful – all elves were beautiful – though in this world, unlike Faerie, they were beautiful because they were born that way, not because of a glamour. She wore a rather bedraggled light cream dress, with an elaborate pattern involving daggers (trying to follow it hurt John's eyes) stitched underneath the bodice, and a matching pattern ran on the hem of the sleeves and dress itself. She was lithely slender, and her keen amber eyes were currently glaring at the bars, as if daring them to defy her. A mane of bone-white hair tumbled over her shoulders, with a few wisps brushing at her long eyelashes. She absently pushed them away.

"You _look _out-worlder, sparrow," John realized Y'vair was speaking to him. "I haven't seen such clothing before."

"I have," K'yanae looked up. "Long time ago. During a bit of problem involving Baldur's Gate and several powerful creatures. Yet another long story…we could write an anthology of them! Heh, hold that thought. John Constantine…perhaps you would like to go and find Y'vair's key. The three of us might be able to bend this enough for me to get through."

"Right you are, luv." John agreed. He doubted he would be able to, even if he managed to get out of the dungeon alive, find his way back to his world by himself. He needed people who were familiar with the customs and ways of Toril. And besides, even as a small, ignored part of himself shook his head at this, he might like to know the two pretty ladies better…

**

After some exploration he found a room north of his cage that wasn't locked. The only other door that was open led to a corridor where he could smell blood and death, and drifting from it, the sounds of fierce fighting. Being a pragmatist, he turned on his heel and inched away as quietly as possible.

The room was small and crudely furnished – a table and chairs, the worse for wear, and a few cupboards. More importantly – a rack of weapons, with some sets of armor draped carelessly over spaces, and some sort of hulking, primitive statue next to the wooden door. John stepped into the chamber tentatively, half-expecting explosions, spontaneous eruptions of small armies, nasty traps…but nothing. He was almost disappointed, and sauntered towards the nearest cupboard, but froze when the statue quivered.

The panther sniffed in surprise, then padded over and cautiously patted the statue with a paw. Immediately it straightened as much as it could, causing the panther to let out a startled snarl, and it opened tiny, lifeless red eyes.

A golem.

John swore, and prepared to make a run for it, but the construction didn't move – only stared ahead with unseeing eyes. It now appeared more organic than before, somehow, even though it still seemed to be composed of a roughly hewn block of rock hued a rather repulsive shade of greenish gray. Experimentally, he put his hand down on the nearest cupboard and opened it. 

Nothing happened – still the monster stared ahead. John let out an audible breath, motioned for the cat to watch the thing, then began to search through the cupboards in earnest. He didn't really expect to find anything of use, other than several neat bundles of throwing knives which he secreted in the pockets of his trenchcoat, and a plain dagger which he put in his belt, hoping he wouldn't stab himself accidentally in the thigh. He considered for a moment, then relieved the cupboards of slings and a bag of shot, as well. 

John felt like a kid in a candy store, for a moment – that is to say, tempted but with an overwhelming feeling of insignificant helplessness – too many items, too little time... For a briefer moment, he felt rather invincible – the sort of invulnerable sensation one gets when one is armed with at least two different types of weapons. However, he had been alive long enough to recognize the feeling for what it was, and refused to indulge in it.

And then he found something – an odd, dull bronze device that could look, in a certain (dim) light to a seriously drunken person, like a key. He turned it around in his hands – there were strange little carvings, that made the key look merely functional, instead of the intricate bit of art that it would have been seen as in his world. John shrugged, and looked back up at the unmoving golem.

"Hello?" he tried. A part of him seemed hell-bent on getting into trouble this day…

No response.

John turned to go, and made it out of the threshold before he heard a hollow voice behind him – with some sort of tinny echo that could come from someone speaking from inside a large, thick ceramic pot. "Are you the master?" The words were slow, as if unwillingly dragged out, and grated on the ears like chalk over a blackboard as a stone mouth moved and scraped over itself with the effort of speech.

He winced in sympathy, for his poor ears, then decided to gamble and bluff with no cards. It was pretty fun, most of the time. "As a matter of fact…er yes. I am your master. Follow me…have something for you to…do."

His luck appeared to have given up on him with disgust for the time being. The golem did not budge. "No…orders to move."

"Fine, be that way," John saluted it mockingly, feeling light-headed, then sauntered away. The panther shook its head with mock resignation as it followed its master out of the chamber back to Y'vair and K'yanae.

**

The key fitted Y'vair's cage with oiled ease, and the door sprang open. Immediately the bard leaped out of the cage, then stretched, before snatching the key from him and scrutinizing it. "Hmph. That was fast."

"You don't like the service, luv, you don't use it," John bantered. "You can waltz back into your cage, and I'd lock up after you, no special charge."

"No thank you but I'd pass, sparrow," Y'vair grinned. "But really. Where did you get this?"

"Cupboard in a room over there," John waved a hand in the direction from which he had come from. "Nothing inside but an unhelpful golem. Very easy…either that torturing bastard wants us to get out, or he can't bring his little brain into contemplating the idea that we might be able to get out…"

"Hello? Someone's still in a cage, here," K'yanae tapped her foot on the ground impatiently.

"Priorities, priorities," Y'vair chuckled. "Um. Let me try a spell." 

"Try?" John feigned horror, but she stuck her tongue out at him, then began to speak in a voice quite different from her 'normal' one – this one had exaggerated cadences and a sort of sonorous pomposity that John associated with most mages with this spell magic. A blue, soft cloud seemed to twirl out from her fingertips and suffuse her skin, and she stopped chanting.

"Oh. It worked." Y'vair looked relieved. "I was beginning to wonder if it was only the cage that would be warded…but apparently not. Your go now." 

"What spell…" John began, but the chanting was complete before he could finish his question, and the blue cloud touched his skin. He blinked – nothing actually seemed to feel new, so he stared at Y'vair.

"What spell did I do? A simple strength one. Lucky that I decided to learn some before the playhouse – sometimes audiences get a little rough, and the sight of a few of those trying to get too fresh flying headlong in the air tends to dissuade the others." Y'vair caught hold of the bars that K'yanae indicated. "So, sparrow, are you going to gawk, or are you going to help?"

The bars gave very easily. K'yanae padded out delicately, reminding John of the cat, and nodded her thanks. "Right. Did you see weapons around here?"

"In that room. I think I'd let the rest of them go." John walked over to the first cage, and unlocked the door. The occupant did not seem to notice, as he continued to shiver and sob to himself, little, pathetic racking sobs.

"Altruism, sparrow?" Y'vair seemed amused, as she glanced around quickly. "None of these lot would appear to be of mind sound enough to even help us open doors."

"Hardly that." John unlocked another door. This time, the occupant sprang to her feet with a maddened shriek, knocked him over in her haste to get out, eliciting an angry growl from the panther, and ran away, moaning and gibbering to herself. John stopped the cat from bounding after her as he got back to his feet, rubbing his knee where he'd barked it against the railing. "Quite mad. But if there're a lot of these poor sods running around, there'd be a bit more confusion, so it'd be easier for _us _to get out." His smile was cold, but managed to be innocent all the same.

"Very clever," K'yanae approved. "Now, these weapons you were talking about…"

"They'd probably sold our things," Y'vair commented as John led the way, the panther purring to itself as he scratched behind its ears affectionately. 

"I doubt he'd be able to sell my collar, but he's probably thrown it into the sea, if he'd any sense," K'yanae rubbed at her neck. "If he had kept it around here, Father would have found me by now…"

"Collar?" John shot her a curious glance. "This isn't some kinky…"

"Sparrow, _do _pull your mind out of the gutter," Y'vair admonished him, playfully wagging a finger. "The collar of the werewolves has nothing to do with _that_ sort of thing."

"How was _I _to know, luv?" John grinned impishly.

"It's for storing things," K'yanae said, as they rounded a corner, unlocking more cages and watching the maddened creatures either ignore them or rush wildly away. "Useful when one changes to the wolf and back. You don't bring your clothes with you, so unless you have the collar…let's just say it's bloody embarrassing to be naked in public."

"I think all of these…people are special, in a way," Y'vair pointed at the fast-retreating back of an elf that had leathery, bat-like wings on its back which were scratched and torn in dozens of places. "Wonder what he was looking for. This is quite like a circus of freaks."

"Freaks?" K'yanae unlocked another door and stepped back. This one didn't move.

"Oh?" John inspected the remains of what could conceivably have been one of those satyrs that literature liked to describe. Sad tufts of brown hair and cloven hooves could be seen in all the gory mess. The panther tugged gently at his trouser leg, not liking the smell of violent death.

"Present company, of course, not included," Y'vair chuckled. "Is this the room?"

"Yeah, luv. That's the golem over there." 

K'yanae looked through the cupboards, then picked out two large daggers that she hefted. "Passable…I miss my old daggers."

"I miss my old sword," Y'vair commiserated. She took a short sword at random from the rack and glanced at it, put it back with disgust, and picked up another one. "These are quite badly kept. What a waste. Ah…this one is acceptable." She belted a scabbard to her side, then picked up one of a few sturdy-looking staves. At K'yanae's inquiring glance, she jerked her head at the silent golem. "If there're more of those around…well, swords just glance off them, and clubs are too heavy."

"Good point," K'yanae approved, picking one for herself and handing another to John. "Unless you'd like a club."

"Me no caveman," John furrowed his brow and hunched his shoulders. He laughed at their blank faces. Didn't they know what evolution was?  
Probably not. Both females shook their heads wryly at him, then continued picking through the things in the room. 

"Hmm. Do you wear armor?" K'yanae looked at the suits. 

"No. I like my trenchcoat. I don't even know _how_ to wear armor, luv." John leaned against his staff. The cat made a sound that he'd learnt to associate with a feline version of a snigger, and he rolled his eyes at it. 

"Want to learn, sparrow? It might help." Y'vair watched K'yanae put on a set of studded leather. "Though chain mail's _very _heavy. The last time I tried on a set, I had to sit down."

"Speak for yourself, luv. Why aren't you wearing any armor?" John gestured at her clothing.

"Hmph. I've never found a set of armor that wasn't restricting in some way, and for certain spells, you need to keep your dexterity. Besides, I find it uncomfortable to have to play music and wear such restricting clothes." Y'vair mimed spellcasting with her right hand, twisting it gracefully in the air. "Gods, I miss my harp. K'yanae, what _are _you doing?"

K'yanae was pressed against one of the walls from which a painting hung, rather incongruously. It depicted sunny hills and brilliant skies, perhaps rather sadistically. "I think there's something behind this painting…the architect of this dungeon has no blessed _imagination_. Look, there's the wire, and now that I've cut it off and disarmed the trap, the painting can be lifted off…" she tried to pull off the frame, frowned as it wouldn't budge, then comprehension dawned. Using a dagger, she cut out the canvas and dropped it. 

Inside was a compartment filled with more throwing daggers, which K'yanae somehow managed to pocket, as well as potions which her werewolf nose identified as healing, and one of those belt pouches. This one had money in it. K'yanae glanced at John, then at Y'vair, then made a show of tossing the pouch to Y'vair.

John grinned at them. "What, luv, you don't trust me anymore?"

"I don't trust you, period," K'yanae chuckled as she sorted through the items. "There's a distinctive smell that wolves can pick up."

"And what is it?" Y'vair buckled the pouch around her slim waist.

"No offense, John Constantine, but you smell like a weasel. One that has fangs." K'yanae tossed Y'vair some scrolls. "Here. Maybe you can use these."

"I've been called worse names," John shrugged, not at all offended. "Those things scrolls? Maybe I can read them." The carelessness of his comment struck him a moment later. This was another world, and he doubted that…well, but they all seemed to speak the Queen's English, so maybe the language would be the same as well.

"Right." Y'vair handed him one. "This one's rather basic. It's called a chromatic orb. Boring, boring spells." She tucked the rest into her pouch. "Can you understand it? Don't read aloud from it – that would just cast the spell and banish the words from the parchment."

John blinked. The words weren't in any language he knew, but they seemed to suggest shapes…puzzles even, little geometric mazes, and as he stared at it, trying to fathom the meanings, the words seemed to flash once, like a lightbulb blowing a fuse, then the words faded away from the parchment, like colored water off glass. Helplessly he looked to Y'vair.

Both K'yanae and Y'vair were staring at him.

The silence was so heavy it could have crushed the furniture.

John broke it first. "What? Did I just grow donkey ears?" He made a show of patting his temples, as if searching for the offending furry growths.

Y'vair chuckled, then her expression grew serious again. "You learnt the spell. Didn't you say you…but you're out-worlder…"

John decided to try yet another variation of what he liked to call the James Bond attitude. "I'm a Constantine, luv. Magic's in our blood. It's a damned curse sometimes." His niece Gemma didn't know how lucky she had been, to stop before she could seriously begin.

They seemed to buy it, though John had no idea what had happened. He didn't feel different…there wasn't any new, portentous knowledge he could discern in his mind, he wasn't outwardly changed, the panther was shooting him a _are we going on, or are we going to stand here all day _look. As far as he was concerned, nothing important had occurred. Usually the first sensation of magically obtained knowledge was the impression of having been knocked over by a speeding train, at the stage where one was sailing through the sky with the ground in sight and the killer headache just about to start, and he didn't feel that…

"In your blood?" Y'vair narrowed her eyes. "Hmph. Were you born with the ability to cast spells, sparrow?"

"No, I sort of picked it up as I went along," John shrugged. If he were to try and talk about his past in detail, the salient points themselves would take up the better parts of days.

"For a moment there I thought you would be a sorcerer, though those sort can't learn spells from scrolls…ah, what the hell. Come on." K'yanae carefully opened the door next to the golem. "Better let me go first. May have traps around here."

Y'vair nodded. "Careful."

--

Little Notes:

__

Emma: Before the big mess involving several magical forces and the Swamp Thing, Constantine…okay, okay, I'd look it up. Fine. In 1985, Emma got killed in New York by the Invunche – a servant of the Brujeria, due to some mess called the Crisis on Infinite Earth. If you ask me, her death was pretty…gruesome.

__

This sort of fashion: For those who can't be bothered to read Rebel Heart, John landed in the Underdark on his first trip to Toril, and met a rather ticked-off Zaknafein. This Zaknafein was a member of the Constantine family – perhaps a parallel one, but of _L'Ilythiiri_. He's different from the Zaknafein on this version of Toril, who is (yes, this is confusing) the Zaknafein of that extremely long-winded Rewritten series, who managed to end up as Duke of Baldur's Gate and a werewolf. K'yanae is this Zaknafein's daughter.

__

The Dream King: The Dream King, in this particular time, is Daniel, after Morpheus sort of committed suicide.

__

The Dream King's Gift: Daniel gave Constantine, in Rebel Heart, the ability to move himself physically or mentally into the Dreaming whenever he wanted, and seek sanctuary there.

__

The cat: Yes, Constantine has Guenhwyvar. Or maybe you could say that Guen has Constantine. I sort of took pity on the poor sod…he keeps getting beaten up in physical fights. Not to say that he doesn't take revenge…

__

Sparrow: The fact that Y'vair uses this word and is also a tiefling should give away who I based her on. Yes, Haer'Dalis of BG II…I can't stand the form of address, actually…so I figured Constantine probably wouldn't care for it either. 

__

Constantine's Magic: On the world of Vertigo, Constantine's magic mostly has to do with synchronicity. When he really wants something to happen, it happens…something like that. For example, as he's demonstrated several times, if he wants money he can walk onto the street, pick the richest man he can see, and walk up to him. The man would give Constantine his wallet rather cheerfully. Actually I'd have figured Constantine as a sorcerer – magic's part of being a Constantine, after all. But I'd have to work out the details – I know sorcerers can't learn from scrolls.

__

Gemma: Gemma, Constantine's niece experimented a little with magic in 1992, the usual boyfriend-related problem, but Constantine put a stop to that quickly.


	3. Good enough for me

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Good enough for me

"Bloody _hell_."

John blinked as the badly dressed genie in need of a health diet twirled away, to be replaced by something vaguely human, if you discounted the way it was nearly twice John's height, with greenish skin, dressed in crude plate armor and holding a large club, reappeared in its place. The creature began to speak in some incomprehensible, guttural language, and waved the club around in what _could_ be a pattern or a good stab at one…

"Ogre mage," Y'vair identified casually, as if she were at some police line-up picking out suspects. "Hmm. I wonder if…throwing daggers?"

K'yanae obliged, but the daggers merely interrupted the spellcasting as they buried themselves in the ogre's unprotected kneecaps. It toppled over with a bloodcurdling growl and struggled to claw itself back to its feet, smashing some of the landscape with its club, by which time Y'vair had crossed over, cut its throat, and leaped back before the arterial blood could ruin her clothes. 

The genie reappeared. "You have dealt with your consequences…" it began, but didn't make it any further as one of K'yanae's throwing daggers buried itself to the hilt in the creature's throat. With a choked gurgle, its body faded away, leaving behind the stylishly stereotyped clothes that looked like cast-offs from a movie set titled 'Arabian Nights' where the script writer had never been to Arabia in the first place. 

John had to hold back a snicker. K'yanae, like her father – or at least the Zaknafein that he knew – had a short temper with riddles and creatures that summon hostile things.

"Hmm. He might have told us _something_," Y'vair approached the corpse of the ogre mage and searched it, then stood up in disgust. "Nothing of value."

John attempted to say something suitably cynical, then shut up. He was still awash with that sensation of helpless, numb dislocation, though he devoutly wished that he could, in a phrase, snap out of it. The incident in the Underdark was easier than this – though it probably helped that he was in near-total darkness and near-constant terror, alone, unprepared. They were currently in a room that looked as though it had been hollowed out of a rock mountain with inexpert hands, ignoring the fact that all the other rooms still looked as though they had been lifted out of a bad medieval picturebook. There were occasional growths of huge pink crystals and suitably mysterious, black bubbling pools of what he could only hope was tar. The scent of whatever it was pervaded the room and threatened to set up permanent residence in his nose. The panther let out a sound almost like a whimper – its sense of smell being far keener than his.

He approached one of the crystals and saw his reflection – scruffy, expression twisted into that of mild astonishment, one hand bandaged by K'yanae with scraps of someone else's clothing when they'd found and cut down a well-armed person wearing black armor, who'd attacked at sight. Or rather, K'yanae had cut him down, and the rest of them had watched. K'yanae said he was a Shadow Thief, whatever that was, and sounded curious, though not curious enough such that she didn't hesitate to relieve him of his black, better-made leather armor, cloak, money, short sword and daggers. Y'vair had put on the cloak expertly, snickered at the way the hem brushed the ground, then adjusted it. 

He stared at his reflection. It stared back. At least this wasn't one of those days where it'd proceed to talk back to him, or worse, change into a face of a 'friend' long dead.

Y'vair's visage appeared next to his. "Something wrong, sparrow?"

"Sometime ago I may not have…ah hell, it doesn't matter." John rubbed his brow absently. "Let's get out of here."

They ran into a few more of those tiny, chattering creatures that rather resembled mutant flying Gremlins from the movie, and which bit and cast annoying spells, like one of which filled the chamber with choking, stinging orange gas. The panther seemed blithely immune to most of their spells, for some reason, though it gave John a dirty look when he'd suggested that it could eat some of the flying Gremlins for a change, instead of tearing them to pieces. Y'vair had called them mephits…apparently they were in a sorcerer's dungeon. John had thought that obvious enough – the golems, the odd monsters, the magical traps, like that lightning bolt one which had taken at least a year off what was left of his alcohol-soaked life.

There was even a library, where Y'vair had located a few more potions hidden among the moldering, ancient leather-bound books which would have been worth quite a bit in his world, but here, K'yanae took one look at them and pronounced them useless. John had no idea why any sane person would put breakable potions among old, probably irreplaceable books, but no sane person would have built this dungeon in any case, where the actual keys to exits could be found in the dungeon itself. Bloody stupid, that. If _he_ ever had to design a dungeon, not only would there not be weapons in it where any old fool could get at them, the keys to doors and suchlike activation stones would be stored elsewhere! Probably in his pocket far, far away…

There were some goblins in a set of connected sewers outside the library – again, another bloody stupid idea – the sewers were damp, and books didn't like damp. Besides, how was the architect of the dungeon supposed to know that the goblins/mephits/whatever wouldn't come in and rip up all the tomes? Sign a treaty? John nearly chuckled as a picture of that invaded his mind. "I, Gar, the Goblin Chief in the sewer, swear not to come in and use the books as firewood, toilet paper, dental floss…"

The only warning they had of the nasty, green-skinned creatures was when the panther bounded ahead around a corner and something eventually squealed and crunched unpleasantly. A spirited fight had already taken place when John and company finally caught up with the cat – spirited in that the goblins were trying their level best to run away, and the panther was carefully hunting each of them down, breaking their necks, or simply landing on them with all its weight. John winced at one particularly loud crunch.

"Very useful," Y'vair chuckled, lowering her sword. "Care to sell it to me, sparrow?"

"If I tried to it might just decide to bite off my head, luv." John glanced down at the sad little corpses. He stepped on what looked like a length of bent wood with a string at one end, wood sporting patterns that looked as though it had been attacked with a red brush. "They actually _shoot _with those bows?"

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" K'yanae agreed, picking up one. "The damp from the sewer has totally _ruined_ the aim. I'm surprised they haven't as yet shot each other with this thing."

There was a sharp ringing sound, like some sort of fire alarm, then somewhere down the corridor they heard the unmistakably heavy footsteps of golems, hollow and echoing down the slimy walls, the smash of a sturdy door being splintered under stone fists, then the tramp of feet of stone retreating down another corridor.

All three let out breaths that they had not been aware that they had been holding.

"For a moment I'd thought we set off an alarm," K'yanae relaxed her grip on her staff. "Come on."

"Cat?" John called, and flinched at the echoes. Lucky enough, no heavy tramp of footsteps started their way, only a self-satisfied panther that padded out and rubbed happily against his trousers, leaving a dark stain of goblin blood. John nudged it away quickly before it could do further damage to his clothing, then followed K'yanae as she experimentally kicked open a door at the end of their current corridor. She leaped back quickly as the golem inside lurched to red-eyed life, then relaxed her grip on her staff as she realized that it wasn't about to attack. 

John decided to be suicidal and sauntered in, addressing the golem. "I'm your master. Now, show me the way out."

"Way…out…open the doors to portal," the golem grated. John had to fight from clamping his hands over his ears. "Give the activation stone."

"And where is this activation stone?"

The golem didn't answer, nor did it answer to further questions regarding what the stone looked like, where it was usually placed, how to use it, and whether the golem's grandmother was a stone quarry used for nuclear testing. Happily engrossed by this, John was on the verge of asking more questions, each perhaps more degenerate than the rest, but Y'vair cleared her throat pointedly.

The small, nearly claustrophobic (especially with that hulk of stone in it) room had nothing more of interest except some coins scattered on the lone table and more shot that John filched from the cupboards. He looked up to the intense amber stare of K'yanae. "Do you know how to use that?"

"No, I'm only taking the sling and the shot to cook and eat later," John said dryly. 

"I didn't know you out-worlders had such impeccable tastes, sparrow," Y'vair quipped with a wicked grin. "Maybe you're not all barbarians after all!"

"Yeah well, we're known for our appreciation of fine dining, luv." Taking pity on K'yanae, John added, "But yes, I can use the sling – one of the products of a delinquent childhood spent harassing things that couldn't throw stuff back at you. May be a bit rusty though."

"Good enough for me," K'yanae shrugged. "Right. Now to find this activation stone. The way this idiotic dungeon is designed, it'd be in one of the unlocked rooms…"

She was right.

**

The room in question sported several glass jars, more worm-eaten tables that looked as though they should have rightfully belonged in a table cemetery, and some crates. John peered closer at the nearest glass jar, and was sickened to find that the…_creature_ inside, suspended in thick, transparent bubbling liquid, looked as though it might have been once humanoid. It was twisted into a position that looked, mockingly, like a fetal one, and its arms loosely floated, like tentacles, the flabby inertness that could only be caused if its bones had been removed. The legs appeared to have been surgically removed, leaving only sad stumps, and John didn't even want to _look_ at what had been done to the torso, or the face, which seemed to have been magically rearranged. He concentrated on not throwing up, as K'yanae sniffed the air, then pulled a face.

"More damned experiments. Sick bastard," she said, summing it up. Y'vair, by the look of it, was trying her utmost not to look into any of the jars, and just at the tables and crates. Only one crate was closed, and at that one K'yanae took a closer look. She let out a strained, hoarse chuckle, under the circumstances. "Someone trapped this crate. That's new."

"New?" John stared at his scuffed shoes. _Anything_ but look at the creatures in the jars – and his mind, which chose at this point of time to be irritating, suggested that they were alive – he could hear soft, ragged gurgles that could have been sounds of breathing. Did he hear a word, a phrase, the word 'Master', or perhaps unintelligible pleading, hissed out from their orifices with each unnatural breath? Bloody_ hell_, then they were…conscious… Unwelcome bile began to ascend in his throat. He struggled to keep his mind on something else, anything else, and fixed on the sight of the panther chasing rats, oblivious as to John's discomfiture. 

"Yes…I've never seen trapped crates before," K'yanae looked disgusted. "Wire, ward, wire…ah, there we go." The lid sprang open, and John's nostrils filled with the musty smell of rotting hay, and he took it in gratefully, relieved for a moment from the underlying chemical smell that emanated from the glass jars. Tufts and bunches of it were flung onto the ground as the werewolf dug around inside. "This staff looks better…" she pulled up a metal pole, and hefted it. "Heavy, though…but if we _do_ meet any more golems, it would have to serve." She put it on the ground, and sifted through the hay again. "Activation stone…activation stone…"

"Ah." She picked up something that looked as though someone had cut up a dark mineral, polished it until it resembled a dark blue duck egg, then twisted many threads of bronze, gold and unidentifiable metals onto it. "This should be it…I think. If not, we should be able to sell it."

"Right. Ah. Let's go…" John paused, then stepped closer to a jar and peered at the back of it. There was something that vaguely resembled a medieval battery – an oval cylinder with wires snaking out of it, wires that connected to the bottom of the jar, and which seemed to be feeding bubbles into the mixture. He yanked out the battery, and immediately the bubbles ceased, the last of which floated lazily to the lid before bursting.

The breathing of the creature became harsher for a moment, then burbled wetly before stilling. 

"You've killed it?" Y'vair approached the jar.

"Seems like it," John fervently hoped it was so. He didn't need to mention to his companions that death, for these _things_, was probably the only kindness they had left to offer them. They understood perfectly what he wanted to do, and even better, agreed with him. John was not in the mood at all, at this point, to argue the merits between clinical life and peaceful death. 

Before leaving the room, they carefully plucked out all the other batteries from the other jars, then stomped them into pieces. K'yanae voiced a suggestion that she use the metal staff to smash open the jars to make sure they were dead, but not knowing what substance the liquid was, they decided not to risk it. 

Behind them, the tortured souls of the creatures floated into oblivion.

**

They needn't have worried how to actually use the activation stone – once they neared the golem it just raised its hand, palm up, towards them, making John start violently and nearly fall over the panther, which made the sound he familiarly associated with laughter. There was an obvious hollow in the stone, and K'yanae gingerly placed in the stone. She jumped back as the golem's eyes flared, and then it hurried out of the door. 

"Should we follow?" Y'vair asked rather nervously. There was something inherently eerie about animated blocks of stone that wouldn't be put off by such an organic sensation as pain when attacking.

Echoing down the corridors was the sound of doors banging open, as well as fainter, insane moans and gibbers of the freed prisoners.

"Discreetly, or we'd never find out which doors the thing opened." John held his staff more firmly. "I wish I had me Silk Cut."

"Silk?" K'yanae glanced at his trenchcoat. "That looks like leather."

"I'm talking about ciggies, luv. _Cigarettes_. No cigarettes in this world? Bloody hell! I really need out of here." John sighed, absently patting his pockets out of habit.

"Hmph. What are these cigarettes? Small cigars?" Y'vair led the way out of the small room as they followed the distant sounds of doors being forced open.

"In a sense," John's sigh deepened as his fingers registered the lack of cigarettes in his pocket.

"Nasty things, cigars" Y'vair snorted. "Might as well turn yourself into a dragon, if you like breathing smoke so much."

John decided not to argue. The panther padded ahead to scout the way, occasionally running into a few goblins that found, all of a sudden, that they had appointments elsewhere. The mad rush to get away from the huge cat was, to John, highly entertaining, especially the bit where the goblins ran up against a dead end. Or when they were passing some corridor and some goblins attempted to ambush the three of them as the panther had run ahead. 

K'yanae let out a most unearthly growl that could have been wolf-like at some stage, but actually hinted at being a primal growl that might have come from a sort of carnivore that would make a wolf look like a Chihuahua.

Predictably, they shrieked, and scrambled to get away. The three of them strolled along, waiting…ah, yes, more panicked, high-pitched screams ahead as they ran into the panther. 

"Don't kill them!" Y'vair called, "Drive them ahead." There was a deep growl of assent, then the shrieks faded away, as well as the sound of snarls.

"Clever," K'yanae agreed, as they speeded up to a quick jog. Her eyes moved constantly, scanning for traps in a way that made John's own eyes ache in sympathy. "This way they'd run into danger first."

John pulled a face and feigned indignation. "Hey, _I'm_ supposed to be the brutally practical one of this group, luv."

Y'vair and K'yanae gave each other the Look, which John had long-ago counted as one of the myriad unspoken ways with which women communicate with each other in the presence of men. Knowing it could mean anything from their admiring his wit (unlikely) or agreeing to pound him simultaneously, he adopted the instinctual reaction of guys to this sort of communication – he remained silent.

The uniform corridor eventually reached an end at a door. Apparently the architect, after going into raptures when designing certain rooms with monsters or chains or those jars in them, lost inspiration when it came to the corridor. It just looked as though someone had measured a space with rulers, then hacked out a long, cuboid tunnel – no decoration except for the few torches that burned with an orange flame that danced above the cloth - more sorcerous intervention.

The door had been opened by the golem, and the three of them were just in time to see the panther chase the goblins through it, down a short flight of rickety steps. The panther stopped dead, and growled a warning.

"Yeah, cat, it stinks," John agreed, wrinkling his nose. They appeared to have hit the garbage room, or sewage room, or whatever – it smelled as though all the leftover food that John had ever seen had been dumped in it and left to rot gently and pungently. If bottled and left for a while, it could even be a new weapon for gas warfare.

The panther turned its large head and gave John an exasperated look. 

"What?" John blinked as he heard a deep, savage roar from inside the room. "This dungeon is just a bloody _fountain _of enjoyment."

"I'm glad you appreciate it," K'yanae sighed, gripping her staff tightly. "By the sounds of it, I don't think I want to get close to this thing." The goblins' screams could be heard. This was just not their day.

Cautiously, the three inched closer to the panther and peeked in.

The room _was_ a dump. It was fairly large, but refuse had been strewn around it, dumped at corners, and by the looks of it – chewed on. John identified a broken bathtub that had suffered, by the looks of it, an experimental bite, by a very, very big mouth, with lots of teeth. The walls and ground were covered with an unhealthy green slime, as was the sewer grate in the center of the room, over which a very unlikely monster was biting off the head of a goblin.

It looked as though someone had taken the Venus flytrap from the Little Shop of Horrors and had fun with radioactive chemicals, insane plastic surgery, steroids and possibly a host of other illegal drugs. The first thing John noticed about it was its _size_ – it would tower over a tall man, and was a man's height in diameter. It was a bulging, mottled-green and red bag of muscle supported by three trunk-like legs, and marred by a giant mouth, and John lost count of the number of thin, curving dagger-like teeth that framed a tongue of an unhealthy liver color. Three long, thick tentacles curled out from its back, the ends also armed with the same teeth and covered with thorny growths. 

As they watched, it grabbed the last goblin easily with one flexible tentacle, then proceeded to eat it while it writhed and screamed.

John touched the elbows of his companions, and prudently gestured that they retrace their steps before the _thing_ decided to have them for dessert. K'yanae pointed just as eloquently to yet another open door, which led up to what appeared to be someplace with soft, inviting light. Not the surface, but it might just be the exit…they hadn't been able to find the exit in any other tunnel that they'd visited, in any case. The problem, of course, was that the monster was between them and the door.

"Do you have a sleep spell?" John whispered to Y'vair, the grotesque sounds of bones crunching and splintering covering the sound of his voice.

"That's an otyugh. It's immune to certain levels of magic," Y'vair replied just as quietly. "I'm not exactly sure how many levels. Never met one before, but I understand that they can speak Common."

"Common?" John asked blankly, then relaxed. "Ah, you mean the Queen's English."

"Queen? Interesting, how you out-worlders call things."

"Can we have this discussion later?" K'yanae pointed again. The otyugh was finishing its meal, and the waving of its tentacles seemed to become businesslike again.

"Maybe I can try talking to it," Y'vair said doubtfully.

"Or we could just attack," K'yanae patted her throwing daggers.

"Do you really want to attack a huge walking plant with lots of teeth?" John eyed it critically.

"We're on higher ground." K'yanae argued.

"Well, I've read that otyughs usually only attack when it feels threatened or when it's hungry. Usually it won't attack those that are feeding it…"

"We're not feeding it," K'yanae watched as it finished off the goblin and started turning around. It was disconcerting – the creature had no eyes that they could see.

"We could pretend we had been. Believe me, you don't want to be bitten by it. The fever its bite would give is serious, and rather infectious." Y'vair decisively stepped out onto the top of the stair where she could be heard by the monster. "Otyugh! We wish safe passage. We drove the goblins to you."

All three tentacles turned to her, then, ponderously, the creature also moved. The mouth worked, and then it spoke in a rasping growl. "Goblinsss…tassste bad. More…meat."

"Let us pass and we'd send some to you," Y'vair promised, folding her arms, not an easy task when you're holding a staff.

The tentacles waved in the air, as if sniffing. "You…not the…massster…"

"I can still send you food," Y'vair said, convincingly lying through her teeth, "Let my friends and I pass."

"All other…than massster…mussst attack…" With surprising speed, the otyugh lunged forward, and the tentacles shot towards Y'vair. Instinctively she leaped back, just as K'yanae and John took hold of her shoulders and hauled her away. The tentacles snapped into thin air, and the otyugh roared in frustration.

"Well, that was very helpful," John commented from the safety of the corridor.

"This 'master' of theirs brainwashed everything," Y'vair groused. "Ah well. Now what?"

"I suggest we make it angry enough for it to try and get through the corridor – then we attack it safely. It can't fit." K'yanae grinned wickedly. "John Constantine…why don't you use this golden opportunity to…"

"I get your point, luv," John was already loading his sling. His first shot missed, ricocheting off the rail, but the second one hit a tentacle underneath the teeth. It flinched back, as the otyugh roared again, this time in mounting fury. 

"Hey, that looks fun…" Y'vair tried to make a grab for the sling, but John held it out of reach. 

"I'm supposed to be practicing…hey!" John yelped as Y'vair tickled him and snatched the sling as well as the shot. She was, however, less accurate than he was – the bullet bounced off the platform of the staircase, but hit the top of the otyugh as it descended. It shrieked its fury.

John tackled her and retrieved the sling, shot and his masculine pride, glared at K'yanae, daring her to laugh, then tried again. He got better with every shot, and after a while, was hitting the creature with enough force to bruise it. It made it simpler that the otyugh had now somehow crammed itself up the staircase, breaking off the metal railing as easily as John would snap a stick, and was trying to reach into the corridor. Its roars echoed off the walls. 

The panther padded over to John and sat down to wash itself. Somehow, this gesture infuriated the otyugh, and the teeth of its tentacles left furrows along the stone. Its breath, needless to say, stank even worse than the chamber.

Y'vair glanced at K'yanae, who nodded, regretfully putting away her daggers, leaning the staff against the wall, and drawing the short sword of the now-deceased Shadow Thief. Y'vair followed suit.

"Stay here, sparrow," she told John, with a grin. Pragmatically, he didn't argue, knowing that they were much more suited to fighting the thing than he was. Besides, he wasn't sure that he _did_ want to fight it in the first place, even if he was…qualified to do so.

Nimbly they minced forward, as the otyugh redoubled its efforts. Y'vair ducked a tentacle, falling to one knee, using the momentum to hack off one under the razor teeth, then twisted up and swung with both hands, severing the first one before tackling the third, and narrowly missed being lacerated as it swung wildly at her. The panther had attacked, bringing claws into play as it knocked the appendage away from Y'vair, then held it down as she finished the job.

K'yanae had ignored the tentacles and ran close enough to the mouth, before raising back the short sword in a hand like a javelin, no doubt utilizing werewolf strength, as she threw the weapon. Like an oversized arrow it shot in past the monster's teeth and embedded itself deep in its maw.

With a gurgle the otyugh lurched backwards, one flailing tentacle managing to knock K'yanae hard against a wall, then it fell off the dented platform onto the littered ground of its lair, where, to John's satisfaction, it proceeded to die. K'yanae stood up, rubbing her head and chuckled. "Thank Asur for werewolf powers, or I'd have suffered concussion. Over confident. Everyone all right?"

"Yeah." John grinned. "Lucky for us that it fell off the platform, or it would have blocked the way."

**

They hurried past the otyugh chamber after picking up their discarded weaponry, not willing to stay in it longer than was necessary and into the corridor after it. Theoretically the chests John had seen in a passing glance in the chamber might have contained valuables, but the stink drove them away. K'yanae and the panther especially were obviously having a hard time, having more refined senses of smell.

The corridor petered off into a room that looked like a magnificent embodiment of luxury. Beautifully woven carpets graced the wood-paneled floor, and exquisite paintings of sunsets hung on white slate walls. The furniture had been hand-carved from what John guessed to be mahogany, and there was even a four-poster bed with a tapestry of a quilt. Potted plants had been placed discreetly in corners, and a fire burned merrily in the stone fireplace.

It was so extraordinary, considering their current surroundings, that John had to look behind him involuntarily to reassure himself that he was still in the dungeon, and not magically transported elsewhere.

"I have a bad feeling," K'yanae announced. "Let me check." Slowly she inched into the room, then grunted in satisfaction, bending down on one of the carpets and fiddling with something on the ground. As they watched, she methodically circled the room, disarming traps with expert ease, then finally rounded off by discovering a secret panel in the wall, which she disarmed and opened. 

"Spells and more potions…" she took out the contents carefully and laid them on the ground, checking for other traps. "Money…nothing else of interest. Bah."

The panther lay down on one of the carpets as John and Y'vair sat down and sorted through the things. K'yanae roamed around the room, rifling the bookshelves, chests and cupboards and taking out items of use for their inspection. There were two more doors in the room, which they ignored for the moment.

John picked up a scroll at random and let his eyes roam over it. Again the words seemed to flash, and faded. He dropped the empty scroll quickly, as though it burned his fingers. "And what was that?"

"Magic missile," Y'vair said. "Hmm. This is interesting…well, since a mind can only seem to learn a certain number of spells of different difficulties before it fail-safes and refuses to learn others, I think I'd pick out the spells you can try to learn…"

"What if you learn too many?"

"Never heard of that happen before, sparrow, but from what I understand, you brain explodes." She grinned at his horrified expression. "Kidding. You'd probably go mad. But it's never happened before."

"There's always a first time, luv," John eyed the scrolls apprehensively.

"You seem intelligent enough." Y'vair retorted. "A few more won't hurt. Have to remember to teach you how to cast the things. Here." She passed him a scroll, and he looked at it automatically, with predictable results.

"Hey!"

"That wasn't so bad, was it? That one's the easier type of Protection from Evil." Y'vair looked through the other scrolls, to the sounds of K'yanae pulling out a drawer.

"Hmm. So if I cast it, I become suddenly allergic to myself?" John grinned.

"No, it's just called Protection from Evil. Other evil – anything demonic can't attack you – everything sort of bounces off a barrier. Useful spell to have in an emergency when your enemy decides to summon fiends." 

"_Anything_ demonic?" John smirked, thinking of the First of the Fallen.

"Yep. On this world, at least."

"Ah, shite," John stretched his legs, rubbing his knee. Y'vair handed him more scrolls. In the end, John had apparently learned how to make himself invisible, how to make it such that others turned invisible, how to magically open locks, how to cast jets of flame and how to create a mirror image of himself. The other scrolls Y'vair deemed useless, and tucked them away along with the coins and jewels.

"That should be about it," K'yanae returned to them. "No weapons of any kind. There was this thing, though. Looks like a wand." She handed over what looked like a deranged creation of a scepter, painted with garish colors, to Y'vair, who examined it quickly.

"The runes on it…I think it's a wand of monster summoning. Useful." She put it at her belt. "Right. Let's go…"

K'yanae opened the door to their left. There were goblins behind it, which immediately regretted attacking as the panther jumped on them. However, one of the archers had gotten lucky, and an arrow buried itself into John's thigh. 

"Bloody hell!" John let out a yell of pain. 

"Sit down on the bed," Y'vair said quickly, before he attempted to pull it out. K'yanae removed one of the potions that she had strapped to her belt as he obliged, cursing.

Y'vair inspected the wound quickly, pulling open the hole in his trousers carefully then looked relieved. "Missed the bone and artery…not too deep. Anyway, this is going to hurt," she finished matter-of-factly, and before he could protest, grasped hold of the arrow and pulled it out swiftly. John yelled again, and K'yanae forced the potion into his hands. 

"Drink slowly until I tell you to stop," she ordered. "Right. Stop." She took it back from him and strapped it back on.

"What was that supposed to do?" John felt even more disoriented than ever. Being ordered around…a tingling sensation was fast creeping down from his throat. As he watched with disbelief, the wound closed and scabbed over. As an afterthought, he removed the bandage on his hand, in time to see the scabs turn black, then peel off. "Bloody hell."

"You could say that. First thing we do out of here is to get some new clothes," Y'vair gestured at his bloodstained trousers. John stood up, and apart from a twinge, he didn't feel the pain anymore…

The panther bounded out of the chamber, glanced at him, and looked relieved, but approached anyway, seeking reassurance. John rubbed it behind the ears. "Now…"

K'yanae had already looked through the door. "A portal!"

"What?" Y'vair joined her. 

The adjoining room, now littered with goblin corpses, was bare except for a few smashed pots and the portal. It was of the height of a normal door and as wide, framed with some sort of dark metal twisted in eerie designs. Between the frame was a strange, flat swirling surface. The frame had been mounted on a stone platform, a plain block of stone. Remnants of small bones lay in a corner, as well as a bucket of water, and the room smelled of piss and worse, which was of course what would happen if one was so stupid as to enclose goblins in it. It was a wonder that they hadn't suffocated to death, but John supposed that air could come through the portal.

Delicately Y'vair approached the portal, then stuck her sword through it. It passed, but just through air – emerging on the other side of the frame. With a sigh, she stuck her hand through – and it passed like the sword had. "Nothing. We need a key…"

"Key?" John said blankly. "Why doesn't this bugger use proper doors all the time?"

"Variety, sparrow, variety," Y'vair pointed at what looked like a keyhole in the frame. 

"I didn't see anything even remotely resembling a key in the room," K'yanae commented, as Y'vair hurriedly exited. "Hmm. Maybe the other door."

She unlocked it with a piece of twisted wire she apparently found from the room, then kicked it open. John flinched, almost expecting an arrow, but the door opened to yet another giant, ludicrous room, this time resembling a forest. Trees, somehow managing to grow healthily underground, nearly brushed the ceiling of the cavern, and grass, even flowers grew in lush abandon. It was beginning to remind John of certain parts of the Heart of the Dreaming, and he had to stop himself from looking apprehensively for Zaknafein.

K'yanae walked first, as usual, then they stopped short as three women emerged from behind the tall trees.

Immediately K'yanae drew her throwing daggers, letting the metal staff clank onto the ground. Y'vair unsheathed her sword, also discarding the staff, the panther moved to flank them and John, to his mild surprise, found that he had loaded his sling. His association with his current companions appeared to have rubbed off on him. 

The three women squealed girlishly in fright, but nervously stood their ground. They were extremely beautiful – if you discounted skin that looked the same color as tree-bark, green hair for one, yellow on another, and blue on the last, scanty clothes…wait, scanty clothes on beautiful women counted as a plus in John's idea of the world.

"Nymphs," K'yanae said flatly. "Are you going to attack us? After that otyugh, you lot are going to be woefully pathetic, so I suggest you stand aside."

"You are not with him?" the first asked.

Quickly, the second followed. "The master?"

The last chimed in immediately. "The monster?"

"I wish," Y'vair hefted her sword and narrowed her eyes, "So that I can put this through his belly, then cut his throat in such a way that he'd die slowly."

"Ah! You are escaping."

"From this dungeon."

"From this hell."

This method of speech, one after another in what looked like a practiced sequence, was beginning to annoy John. "Yeah. Know the key for the portal?" he asked brusquely.

"The portal!"

"The key!"

"Oh yes."

"But you must help us."

"Bring our acorns to our queen."

"Help us."

"Acorns? Queen?" K'yanae asked blankly, managing to get a word in edgeways.

"The Queen is in the Nymph Forest southeast of Trademeet."

"The acorns are with the gray dwarves."

"Not on this level of the dungeon."

"Gray dwarves…duergar," Y'vair looked thoughtful. "Rumored to be a hard fight."

"Help us and we will help you."

"We'd tell you where the key is."

"We promise."

"All right, all right," John raised his hands after tucking the sling back into his pockets. "Fine. Where's this key, then?" 

"Down this road."

"There is a room."

"_Her_ room."

"There's traps."

"And an alarm."

"Some of the mad creatures ran into it."

"Golems came."

"Still there."

"Killed them."

"They didn't want to help us."

"Didn't tell about the room."

"They went anyway."

"He kept us here."

"For pleasure."

"Then he lost the ability to feel."

"So cold."

"Remember the acorns!"

"From our trees."

"If you get them out we can be free."

"Okay!" K'yanae broke in. "I wonder how they got past the otyugh…oh, never mind."

"Didn't you find it odd we only saw a few of them after the sewers and the library?" Y'vair asked, reaching down to pick up the staves and hand K'yanae hers.

"Hmph. The smell of this place – blood and death - must have disguised them, then, if they were using invisibility spells." K'yanae looked disgusted at herself as they left the nymphs.

The room was just a circular space with walls surrounding it in the shape of a C, so that there was one obvious opening. There was a large bed, as elegantly decorated as the rest of the beautiful, feminine room. All the furniture was chased with silver and wrought from pale wood, delicately made, even the chest at the foot of the bed and the bookshelves. The corpses of two prisoners and the two golems, standing immobile in the middle of the room, ruined the effect.

"You might as well use the sling," K'yanae suggested, as she held the metal staff.

The first shot cracked the head of one of the unmoving golems, then the second, the other. Not much damage seemed to have been done…until finally, after a few more, the first abruptly toppled over with a loud crash, falling into the second one, which smashed into the wall and knocked out a portion. The red light in their eyes faded away.

"Hmm. Apparently the thing can only take so much damage." K'yanae walked over to the golems and took a look. She prodded the head of one with her staff. It fell off. "Clay."

"Odd that they didn't attack…but perhaps they were only designed to attack those that set off the alarm that the nymphs mentioned." Y'vair glanced at the door. "I suggest we enter via the new opening, in case there're more of these golems."

The room, like the one they had visited earlier, was viciously and (according to K'yanae) ingeniously trapped, contained more scrolls that were useless, potions, and what could theoretically be the key, but since there were no other key-shaped items, or even items with helpful labels like "Key", or "Portal Key", or "This is the key, you idiot!" on them, they settled with it.

They hurried past the nymphs before they could start their Synchronized Speeches, and back to the portal room. The key worked admirably, and they passed through the blue haze.

--

Little notes and references:

__

Face of a 'friend' long dead: For a time, Constantine was badly haunted by the shades of his old friends, such that at one point, in a fit of anger, he jumped off a train. This shows that you can be one of the most powerful magicians in the world and still be bloody stupid. Pun intended.

__

Tiefling: Okay, I've explained this on drowfic, but if there're others out there who don't know what tieflings are, I'd tell you now. They're giant mutant green hamsters that eat peanut butter. Okay, seriously – to use the Monster Manual definition, which I, as usual, will not totally follow…'twisted, devious and untrustworthy, tieflings more often than not follow their inherent traits and heed the call to evil. A few defy their nature, but still must fight against popular opinion…blah…many tieflings are indistinguishable from humans. Others have small horns, pointed teeth, red eyes, a whiff of brimstone about them, or even cloven feet. No two tieflings are the same…'

__

Silk Cut and Alcohol: Constantine is addicted to cigarettes and alcohol. Once I remember what happens to a person during nicotine withdrawal, I'd write it down. He once made his own cigarettes, but I wonder if he can in FR…

__

The rooms of the dungeon: I know that I'm not following the exact layout of the game dungeon, and am omitting rooms. Obviously…I'm not writing a walkthrough here. And I hate that genie. I'm also making up secret passages. They might not exist as the story claims they do…some do, of course, but others may not. Play the game yourself. Am writing this also in part to prevent letters from people who'd go 'No! The acorns are in _this_ room, not _that_ room, you blockheaded moron!'

__

Thank Asur: Asur is a group of seven spirits that in K'yanae's universe, made the worlds. They're not gods. They're just powers that vaguely resemble the Creators of Pratchett worlds, though with worse attitudes and very human characteristics, especially possessiveness. It's complicated. Go read the earlier stories, if you can stand them.

__

Heart of the Dreaming: A castle at the…as its name says, the heart of the Dreaming, the realm of (d'oh) Dream of the Endless. It's a very interesting place. Read the Sandman! It's good for you.

__

Thing about the Keys: I find it amusing that the implements in Baldur's Gate II are all automatically labeled in your inventory like this: "Key to the Portal". It's so helpful as to even provide a description if you click on it twice, that goes like this: "This is the key to the Portal." I find this very…well, I wish I had such labels on my keys. I've had the same set of keys for years, and I still have to think for a moment which keys go where when confronted with a door…and in BG II they open automatically if you have the key! Wow! ;p


	4. A drow, a tiefling, a human

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A drow, a tiefling, a human

To his considerable surprise, John emerged from the portal without the normal amusing portal-related reactions: i.e. a sudden and exceedingly natural urge to throw up everything inside him, starting from his oesophagus. It was such that he touched his throat, wondering if anything was wrong, or if he was suffering from Delayed portal reaction Syndrome…

"Remarkably well made," Y'vair commented, inspecting the frame. "I didn't feel any effect at all."

"Someone's here," K'yanae warned sharply, dropping the staff and drawing daggers. Her amber eyes scanned the room warily, then stopped at a pile of crates. The panther snarled and edged forward, muscles rippling underneath velvet fur.

"Maybe if I cause the crates to explode he'd come out," Y'vair suggested, winking at John, who found himself wondering if she was joking.

He grinned at her, deciding to play along. "Or maybe a nice, big berserk demon."

"All right, all right…" A small man emerged from behind the crates, holding up his hands in surrender. He had an accent that John would have readily identified as Asian, hence confirming his suspicion that this world was quite possibly some sort of alternate dimension or parallel world, the things that creators like to make when out of inspiration. They might even go something like 'Hey, I can't think of an idea for a unique new galaxy since I used up that one about making every organism subsist on baked beans, so I think I'd create an alternate universe! Or maybe a parallel dimension! What fun.'

He was shorter than John, with a decidedly oriental cast to his features that John would have assumed to be either Chinese or Japanese, as he was not particularly good at telling the races apart. Black hair had been combed tightly back to a thick ponytail. What looked like black hairy caterpillars (John wasn't in a very charitable mood) traced over the man's slanted, keen eyes, under the scarred nose and down to frame the mouth that twitched nervously, and in the form of sideburns behind high cheeks. He wore plain light leather armor complete with a cloak and hood of a subdued deep blue under a knapsack, and held a plain but evidently well maintained katana.

He started off by bowing deeply. "I think I better introduce myself, yes? I am Yoshimo, a thief from Kara-Tur. Are you with Irenicus?"

"Irenicus?" K'yanae narrowed her eyes into burning slits. "You mean the bastard who owns this unimaginative dungeon?"

"Ah, you are not with him! Then we may come to an…understanding. If you would like me to, I can come with you and we can escape."

"What makes you think we need you?" John pretended to look him up and down.

"Nothing," the man said honestly, "But perhaps the bigger your group is, the easier it is to fight our way out, yes? There are shadow thieves and many monsters out there. In the next room," he gestured towards the only door; "there are many little chattering monsters that try to kill me. They seem to be generated by the monsters in four cages in it. Then there are shadow thieves – that one there nearly disemboweled me." He pointed to a bloody heap in a corner. "It was lucky he had healing potion."

"Can we trust you?" Y'vair smiled.

"Can I trust you?" Yoshimo bantered. "I see a drow, a tiefling, a human who wears clothes that I have never seen before, even though I have traveled more than most, and also a big panther. Odd enough, but you are the first few who haven't attacked on sight, so I'm taking that as a good sign."

"Well, we could be stringing you along to fatten you up, then we'd eat you under the moon." The edges of Y'vair's eyes crinkled as she grinned. "Or maybe not."

"I'm willing to take my chances on the 'maybe not'," Yoshimo sheathed his katana. "Well then, what's it to be?"

"I don't see why not," K'yanae put away her daggers, but looked to the rest of the group. 

"He has a sense of humor." Y'vair nodded.

"Like that would be much of a comfort if he backstabs you, luv," John pointed out with a glance at K'yanae. "But I don't mind."

"Right." K'yanae shrugged. The panther yawned, and Yoshimo stared at it.

"How did you manage to tame a black panther?" he asked.

"It's not a real panther," John explained, "It's a dream." 

"Looks very solid to me." Yoshimo walked up to it and squatted down, such that his face was level with the panther's. It purred appreciatively. Tentatively he patted it, then scratched its neck when the cat showed now indication of wishing to bite off his hand. "Very solid."

"Dreams aren't necessarily non-solid, Yoshimo," John noticed K'yanae and Y'vair staring at him. "What? Did I grow donkey ears again?"

"At this time I normally pull the joke about donkeys and asses, sparrow, but I'm more curious as to what you just said. A dream?" Y'vair nodded to the cat.

"It's going to take some explaining, luv. Though there aren't any giant carnivorous plants, golems, goblins and mephits here, so it could be as good a place as…"

"No." K'yanae said firmly.

"No?" Y'vair pouted.

"No. We introduce ourselves," K'yanae inclined her head to Yoshimo, who had straightened up. "My name is K'yanae Do'Urden."

"The Blackjack of the Baldur's Gate thieves? I am very honored to make your acquaintance, K'yanae-san." Yoshimo bowed again, from the waist. John couldn't find any trace of dissembling in his words – he really _was_ honored. He attributed it to this world – in his, no one would have openly proclaimed himself a thief in all seriousness, except possibly on pain of pain. 

"I am Y'vair Cirrhal," Y'vair's tail twitched in amusement at the near-ritualistic introduction. "A bard."

"I have heard of you," Yoshimo bowed. John wondered if the thief ever got dizzy, or maybe severe intestinal distress.

"And I am called John Constantine," John rubbed his nose. "They call me an out-worlder. It's better than most other titles that I've been given."

"We all have many names," Yoshimo said. "Now, the next room…we have to kill the chattering things inside the cages, but some of us have to fight those already in the room. They can cast horrible spells."

"What sort of spells?" Y'vair looked interested.

"I have faced wizards before," Yoshimo pulled at his ponytail thoughtfully. "I recognized two spells – magic missile and the color spray. One more caused small clouds of choking orange smoke to appear, one of them could blur their form, and a last caused lightning."

"Not too bad," Y'vair looked relieved. 

"How many cages?" John asked.

"Five." Yoshimo said promptly. "More than us, but they die easily, if you do not get outnumbered." The cat rumbled. "Oh very well – there _are_ five of us, but I doubt the cat can reach one through the grate." He paused. "What _is_ the panther's name?"

"Guenhwyvar, and I don't think I pronounced that correctly," John crossed over and patted the cat affectionately. "Guen for short, but usually I just call it Cat."

"Ah. Very descriptive." Yoshimo grinned.

"Well, 'Guenhwyvar' sounds as though it may be an Irish ponce…but I see no one understands. Never mind."

"Do you have any idea what this Irenicus brought us down to do?" K'yanae remembered herself. "And how did you find out what his name was?"

"I heard some of the Shadow Thieves mention it while I was running away from their voices," Yoshimo didn't appear to be self-conscious about this admission at all. "And no, I do not know why. Perhaps because we are all obviously different."

"That's true," Y'vair looked him up and down. "You're the first person from Kara-Tur that I've met so far."

"It is very far from Faerun," Yoshimo agreed, and his eyes seemed to flicker with some emotion. "Come then. We tarry here while we could be escaping!" He grinned toothily.

**

The fight was predictable and short, though K'yanae and Y'vair both suffered a few bites and John singed his trenchcoat, to his annoyance. When they cleared the mephits they regrouped at the centre of the room.

It was long and cluttered with bookshelves (again, stupidity – the mephits could have damaged the pages), crates with helpful things like shot and bows and arrows for Y'vair and Yoshimo, and more useless scrolls. Baubles were pocketed, even an odd-looking rod that Y'vair couldn't recognize, and some things given to Yoshimo – since he _did_ have a knapsack that he said he took from the Shadow Thief he had killed. Five domed cages lined the right wall, currently containing corpses of mephits. Y'vair proclaimed no knowledge of the exact magic which caused the mephits to spawn, except that it had something to do with cloning. John decided not to crack the joke about sheep. They probably wouldn't understand.

Nothing more in the room, so they proceeded to the next one – another gloomy chamber that stank of blood and death. There were chains on the wall and what looked like polished surgical equipment on a table, next to a metal waist-high table on which there was a corpse of a human male, garbed in some sort of cloak wound around his waist, with a barely visible symbol of a black talon, but nothing else. The cause of death wasn't apparent – there were so many brutal wounds. With a shudder, John noticed whip lashes and marks of what looked like chains, as well as blisters from burns. Knives had featured predominantly in this poor sod's demise – neatly in a row next to his head. They looked like solid silver.

The others looked on with sickened but slightly detached expressions of those who pitied the corpse but due to their not knowing him personally, had some sort of mental barrier. With the exception of K'yanae, who rushed over to the table and turned the face up to the light of the torches, then let out a wolf-like howl of anguish. "_No_!"

"Shite." John muttered under his breath. More complications already… but K'yanae did not hear him. Sobs racked her deceptively slender frame as she pushed herself away from the metal table.

"_No_…not Namaen…" she whispered. "Not him." 

"K'yanae?" Y'vair spoke tentatively, after a long silence punctuated with K'yanae's broken sobs, more startling in the fact that the odd group had come to see her as a strong one, determined, iron-willed. Seeing her cry was as shocking as watching a fluffy rabbit suddenly turn rabid and start leaping for people's throats.

She looked up, and grief was replaced with fury, ice cold and relentless, points of diamond amber. John wasn't sure which was worse. "Irenicus will pay. He will. If I have to track him for the rest of my life." These words would have sounded stereotypical, even funny, to John if he were reading them or watching them being said in a movie in the comfort of his world, but here, ringing from the dull stone walls from air that smelled of death, with death so obvious in front of them, he shuddered.

It wasn't that he had never heard this sort of words before. Quite a few times they had even been voiced against him, by creatures/people with not inconsiderable power, but the burning, feral gleam in K'yanae's amber eyes, the way her hands curled unconsciously into claws, and especially the way his brain kept suggesting that she was actually a huge wolf standing on two legs, seemed extremely eerie. Or maybe he had hit his head too many times.

**

If K'yanae's skills were good before, they were superb now – she fought like a whirlwind of rage, somehow managing to juggle daggers and the staff without detriment to her skill. The Shadow Thieves that tried to block their way – apparently thinking they were of some rival guild, or just simply out of fear after one look at K'yanae – were cut down as if they had been standing still and unarmed. Apparently 'drow' weren't exactly the most popular of races, but given their normal reaction to people (if Zaknafein was anything to base them by), that was quite predictable. Yoshimo unquestioningly kept up just behind her discreetly to step out occasionally and disarm traps – in her blind fury, K'yanae couldn't seem to care about traps. That raised the thief in John's eyes, at least – for the moment. People with strong ideals of honor often just got in the way, most of the time – and he found it mildly amusing that this honor seemed to coexist quite peacefully with Yoshimo's thieving nature.

Eventually they reached a huge room with a vast carpet. There were odd designs on the carpet – John noticed stylized patterns of fire, lightning, a cloud, a monster…before his eyes decided to go on strike and look away at the ruined pillars at neat intervals on the left wall. There looked like openings to corridors on the right walls. 

At this moment one of the mad creatures they had freed rushed up from behind them – somehow it had gotten through the portal and followed – ran past onto the carpet. As it stepped on the pattern of fire, a gout of flame roared out from the pillar, and the person shrieked, a human-shaped torch now as it staggered and fell convulsing on the next pattern of the cloud. Gas spewed from the pillar nearest to the pattern, spreading quickly, but not reaching them, and further down the room came coughing and wheezing and the movement of feat. Then a scream and a bright crackle of lightning which blinded John for a few seconds.

"Wow. Chain reaction." He commented when all the screaming stopped.

"At least you know your plan worked, sparrow," Y'vair leaned against the wall, watching K'yanae, who seemed to be calming down. She was shivering, though it wasn't cold, and running fingers roughly through white hair.

"I wonder if the traps are permanent…" Yoshimo edged carefully onto the carpet, and stared at the ground. "I don't see any traps."

"Let me look," K'yanae spoke up for the first time since the chamber, and walked up to him. After a few moments, she shook her head as well. 

"Shouldn't we test it?" Y'vair suggested. As they shrugged and returned to the safety of the corridor, she threw her staff onto the picture. Immediately fire roared into existence and consumed the staff. The panther looked bored, and sat down.

"Eh. How are we going to cross?" K'yanae made a face. She seemed abruptly normal again, though John knew people well enough to understand that this could very well just be a mask.

Yoshimo had moved to the pillar, and he studied it. "There's a slot here," he reported. "Maybe it can fit that rod we found just now. Since it didn't seem to have any other use." He pulled it from his knapsack and fitted it in. There was a click, then red energy pooled around the rod, and it changed shape and fell out of the slot. He caught it easily.

"A wand," he said, turning the thing in his hands. It was in the shape of a Chinese dragon, exquisitely carved, the serpent's body in graceful curves, the elaborate head with its mouth gaping open. "I assume it's for fire?"

"As if the trap isn't obvious enough," Y'vair nodded. "Should be worth something, but at the meantime it might be useful. Now, about the trap…"

"My go, luv." John motioned for Yoshimo to get back, then threw his staff onto the pattern. Nothing happened, so he retrieved it. "Trap disarmed. Again, this dungeon is bloody stupid."

However, the next pattern still produced more clouds of gas, which wore off after a while. Yoshimo noted that there was yet another slot in the pillar.

They sighed. It was obvious that they had to engage in an extremely juvenile treasure hunt for rods. 

"I think you should stay here and keep watch," Y'vair told K'yanae, noticing that the werewolf showed the most reluctance for turning back. Of course – the Namaen person, whoever he had been to her, was behind them. She nodded gratefully to them. The cat glanced at them, then rubbed against K'yanae, purring. It seemed to have some sort of therapeutic effect on the werewolf, for she smiled at it, even if her smile was a little strained.

Yoshimo, Y'vair and John retraced their steps and began the tedious task of combing the dungeon for rods. John felt as though he had stepped through a time warp and was a child again, even though his childhood wasn't exactly normal. Eventually they found two more rods, but no more – in extremely odd places – one was inside a big jar that they only discovered when John accidentally knocked it over and shattered. Returning, they found that one fitted the cloud one, but the next rod didn't fit the next pillar. However, it had been enough to reach one corridor, so they philosophically went down it.

"About the nymphs, sparrow?" Y'vair asked curiously, after K'yanae killed another Shadow thief.

"Yeah?" John's shot hit and killed a mephit. As a form of variety, he used a throwing knife against the next one, having remembered that he put some in his trenchcoat. The aftereffects of the killing – a surge of male pride – probably accounted as to why there were so many warriors.

"Going to look for the duergar?" K'yanae asked, more in tune with Y'vair's drift than John was, but they were female after all.

"Duergar?" Yoshimo chimed in, sounding surprised. "There are duergar here?"

"Those on the carpet smelled like them," K'yanae said matter-of-factly. "Or at least like dwarves. Though I wonder how they were pried out of the Underdark."

"I'm certainly not going to try to get to them, if they're the dwarves that took the acorns," John said calmly. "No wish to suicide – all those stupid traps."

"I see," was all that Y'vair said, and John felt as though he had passed some sort of test. Y'vair's expression was unreadable, as was K'yanae's. It certainly wasn't negative – he could normally read negative reactions, an important skill in his line of work – but it may not have been positive either.

He felt no need to explain, and they didn't seem to require explanations, so they continued. Even Yoshimo did not ask any further. John was perfectly at ease with his decision to leave the nymphs to their own fate – as far as he was concerned, he had done worse things with less regret in his life, and a group of nymphs which he didn't know personally stood low on his list of Things to Risk Your Life For. They weren't in direct danger, and even if they were, he wasn't sure he would care. Oh, he wouldn't stand for things like demons trying to eat children, but for some reason his amorality didn't care about adults very much. He just tried to survive, or exist, as it felt like sometimes, and as far as he was concerned, trying to cross a trapped carpet for some acorns for some creatures that had only marginally helped him was a little too much. It was a betrayal, but John had played traitor in more serious situations.

After several more shadow thieves, and avoiding larger groups of them, they eventually ended up in a long tunnel with knee-deep, suspiciously green water which they waded through, cheered on by the waft of fresh air and the hint of light that grew as they approached and began to climb up a slope, into the blessed sunlight…

**

They emerged into a hot afternoon on something that looked as though a giant had enthusiastically attacked a small mountain of stone with sledgehammers, pulverizing everything into boulders, then piled it in a city such that there was a large depression in front of them, and they were on higher ground. The sound of people assaulted their ears – musing, chattering, shouting, murmuring, advertising, whispering, a rich stew of susurrations, sweet music compared with the cold atmosphere of the dungeon.

And then they noticed who was standing in the depression.

Looking very satisfied with himself was the bastard who was responsible for their incarceration, his arms folded arrogantly. "I see you have escaped," he started, in his incongruously pleasant voice, though in this case it sounded suspiciously patronizing. "Well then, I may have to remedy that." His hands began to move, as he chanted. Immediately K'yanae seemed to convulse, but not because of the spell – because a huge wolf abruptly stood in her place, rolling free of dress and weapons and streaking with unholy speed towards him. He released his spell a meter before she-it leaped, and promptly smacked off some invisible barrier. With a furious roar, the wolf tried again, and this time was shoved forcefully away by some invisible energy, to land on a person in a brown robe who had teleported in. There was a confused few seconds as the person screamed and shoved off the wolf, and the wolf, on instinct, bit him. John winced at the crunch of bone as the force of the wolf's jaws broke the person's arm, just snapped the bone like a dry twig.

"Stop this at once! This is an unauthorized use of magical energy!" More men in brown robes appeared, holding staves. The wolf ignored them, trying to get at Irenicus again, but suddenly froze into place.

"You must come with us at once, you and the werewolf," the leader continued to say, in a high-pitched voice.

"I cannot be contained," Irenicus said simply, and unleashed a dazzling array of spells that alternatively burned, froze, shocked, and did other things too horrific to mention to the brown-robed mages, even as they tried to retaliate. Their skill was obviously inferior to his, but more of them kept appearing to replace the fallen (or burned, or frozen, or disintegrated…)

"We may be less skilled than you, but we are legion!" yelled one, before blue smoke poured down on him and he collapsed, shrieking.

"I tire of this," Irenicus stopped suddenly. "Take me then. Take the werewolf with you as well."

The wolf growled its frustration.

"Hey!" John shouted down at them. The mages ignored him, as did the wolf, but Irenicus looked up…and _winked_. John started forward in fury, but Y'vair held him back. 

"They outnumber us," she said with gritted teeth. 

"Do not try anything foolish," said someone behind them. They turned to see more brown robes, pointing their staves at them. Yoshimo patted the hilt of his katana and glanced at John, who reluctantly shook his head. The panther relaxed slightly, though it gave every indication that what it wanted to do right now would be to pounce and bite off the heads of the mages.

"Take them away," said the current leader.

The brown robes muttered spells and all of them – including Irenicus and K'yanae – disappeared. 

**

They had emerged to a large marketplace, surrounded by tiered shops such that it resembled a massive Coliseum. John half-expected to see Russell Crowe running around fighting a tiger, or maybe many screaming spectators, not people walking around shopping. Or they would have been walking around, if not that most of them in their immediate vicinity were staring at the quarry. Then just as abruptly, as if on some hidden cue, they quickly returned to their business, as if the magical display was mere routine, something which John found disturbing. Another eerie thing about all the citizens was that they all had the _same_ expression on their f aces – the strained, slightly cold mask of those who worship money and material wealth, checked desire, – on the faces of men, women and even children. It rather reminded him of zombies.

The shops were selling crafts, scrolls, books, drinks, food, weapons…it was as though someone had taken an inventory of everything that was remotely sellable, legally, in the world and dumped the samples here. There were doors on some of the tiers, suggesting shops within it. A large tent, along with smaller tents like small children hanging around a teacher on a field trip, dominated the oval space, with cages of wild animals near it further enhancing that metaphor. 

The stonework of the marketplace resembled a postcard John had once seen of the Taj Mahal – richly decorated domes, white stone and all, in stark contrast with the occasional rich brocade store or garishly colored fabric outdoor store roofs. The effect was not unlike an accident with a big box of pastels, and John felt his eyes begin to complain. 

"Do you know where we are?" he asked his companions, who were picking up K'yanae's things. He didn't comment, as some people would have done, on the callousness of the act, of not showing respect to her last possessions. Like his companions, he knew the things were only just that – possessions. 

"I've been here before," Yoshimo tucked the potions into his knapsack, and some of the throwing daggers. "This is the city of Athkatla – also known as the city of coin. Just look at everyone's faces. And their clothes – they all strictly wear things according to class. Athkatla's a nice place to be an adventurer – you stand out like a sore thumb, all the guards watch you, the citizens either avoid you like the plague or try to give you errands. And it's also home to the Shadow Thieves, the Knights of the shining order…"

"Order of the Radiant Heart," Y'vair corrected. "There are some playhouses in here, but I've never visited the city before. I understand that it has a large Government district full of the houses of the noble, as well as a large slums district with the houses of the poor. There's a large gap between the rich and the poor, here."

"This is Waukeen's Promenade," Yoshimo gestured. "We can get some sleep here, at least."

"And a bath." Y'vair looked pointedly at their clothes, still suffering from having to wade through sewage. The panther, at least, looked enthusiastic. Just because cats had to clean themselves with their tongues didn't mean they liked it.

"Women are always preoccupied with that," John confided loudly to Yoshimo and blithely ignoring Y'vair's glare and the angry swipe of her tail. Then he paused. "About K'yanae?"

"We won't be helping her if we run around hysterically, so I suggest we refresh ourselves first, then make inquiries." Y'vair's eyes narrowed. "Wherever she is, Irenicus would be there as well, and I don't like being experimented on." She pulled the hood of her cloak over her horns, now visible as slight bulges, and tugged at the fabric such that her tail was also covered, unless she twitched it violently. "Is there an inn for adventurers here? The sort where they don't ask questions."

"There's the Mithrest Inn," Yoshimo pointed to a door. "Later we can get supplies and sell some of the loot. Only money opens doors and mouths in Amn."

**

The Mithrest Inn was noisy and crowded, with quite a few people wearing armor and swords. There were also guards in full plate, which gripped their spears tightly whenever an 'adventurer' passed within their personal space, which seemed to be a two-metre radius. There were amusing green plumes in their helmet, but John managed to refrain from laughing outright, or even pointing out that they rather resembled toilet brushes. 

Most people hardly gave them a glance – after all, some of the patrons didn't even look particularly human, especially one which rather resembled an ogre except with a larger head from whose large mouth protruded yellowing tusks, and such. Though if eyes did linger, they did on John, whose clothes were beginning to make him feel even more out of place. Not that he was particularly bothered. The cat seemed to go unnoticed, as was normal.

Yoshimo, admittedly the most 'normal' one of them, spoke with the innkeeper, and some coin exchanged hands, after which he nodded to them and brought them to some rooms. 

John had seen better ones, but it was passable – there weren't any creatures in the beds, and though there were suspicious squeaks underneath it, he chose to ignore them. 

"Does this place have baths?" Y'vair asked, after scrutinizing her bed. The cat had not been allowed to enter the room, and it sat in injured, dripping, reproachful silence at the door.

"They're in the back. Do you want to go first?" Yoshimo gingerly got out of his soaked boots. "Though I have no idea what we are going to do about the clothes."

"That's easy," Y'vair grinned. 

"Magic," John explained, to Yoshimo's expression.

"Exactly, sparrow." Their clothes wound up smelling faintly of mint, but dry and as clean as they could be. Even the bloodstains on his trousers and trenchcoat were gone.

"Why can't you use that on us, luv?" John asked.

"Because you're alive. Clothes are inanimate. Magic has different rules regarding each – but I could try it on you if you'd like to volunteer, sparrow." Y'vair grinned. "I see I have more to teach you than I'd expected. Come, Guen." She left with the panther in the direction Yoshimo had indicated.

John sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes. From the sound of it, Yoshimo was divesting himself of his knapsack. "Sorry to have to put all of us in one room, but we had to save money," Yoshimo commented. "And Y'vair did not seem to mind."

"So long as she doesn't start trying to move furniture into better positions, or something." John lay down and closed his eyes, amused at himself for his level of trust in people he hadn't even known for more than a day, but figuring he had little left to lose. "Wake me up when you've finished your turn."

**

Over a lunch of whatever had been roasting in the spit, John had to give an overview of his world, leaving out his life, but adding that he had demon blood, since in the presence of Y'vair, that would be hardly shocking. John was hoping that it was chicken. It looked like chicken. It was probably chicken. Hopefully.

Eventually they established what they wished to do – find Irenicus. Finding K'yanae wasn't a really consuming interest for the group, even if she seemed a decent enough person, but they had only known each other for less than a day. John felt like a bit of revenge, but he would settle for indirectly causing Irenicus' painful death. He wasn't particularly interested in having to face the mage again – it had been amply shown to him that Irenicus was much, much more powerful than he was, though he had faced greater opponents. The others in the group weren't particularly interested in a direct confrontation either.

However, John also had to find a way back to his world – even if yes, this was one of the few times he had actually breathed in air that actually smelled clean – without the industrial aftertaste of car exhaust, sewage, fog, or the brew that was the air of a 'civilized' world.

The most important question at the moment, was voiced next.

"Do you know where to get cigarettes?" he asked Yoshimo. The question of alcohol was solved for the moment – the inn provided very good beer, though it seemed oddly spicy, but not unpleasantly so.

"What are those?" Yoshimo asked. John sighed. Y'vair explained.

"Pipes are easily bought, as is tobacco," Yoshimo said doubtfully. "But I haven't heard of cigarettes."

"I can make some with tobacco," John hoped this was true. If their definition of tobacco was the same as his…but after all the beer, he was feeling optimistic, and the room seemed to be getting blurred. There were two Y'vairs, and two Yoshimos – everything obscured by some sort of grayish haze, like a frozen television monitor, or as though he was looking at the world through dirty ice. Frowning, he tried to stand up…the beer must have been stronger than he'd thought, perhaps? 

He didn't even feel it when he hit the table.

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Yoshimo: Yes, Yoshimo is from the game itself. He has a main plot role, hence he's in the story…and besides, I like him. I like the oddest characters – Saemon Havarian, Solaufein, Korgan, Edwin, and Minsc (though this last isn't surprising. Lots of people like Minsc. And Boo.). Other characters may or may not turn up.

__

Namaen: For those who don't know who Namaen is, or was, he was a childhood friend of K'yanae's who was um, hopelessly in love with her. She didn't return the feelings…but she liked him as a friend, reason being she liked someone else the other way. Look, I'm being delicate here! ;)

__

Last encounter with Zaknafein: The first time Constantine met Zaknafein (not this world's Zaknafein), as a weapon master in the Underdark still under Malice (not in that way!), Zaknafein's first reaction was to try and disembowel him. 

__

Playing traitor: Once, to save mankind (he does that every so often, sometimes even unconsciously), John, along with a person called Papa Midnight, tricked his childhood friend Gary Lester into turning to the last host of a hunger demon whose name I can't remember and don't want to check at 12am. Gary Lester died painfully. John was obviously upset about this matter, but Gary had been responsible for releasing the demon. Still, Gary had mentioned to Midnight, on the day before the deed, that he trusted John with his life. Hence, more serious situations. There are other betrayals, too many to list down. Just a small indication into John's character. Go read the sequential tart article on him online. There's a link somewhere in my webpage. If you didn't understand this explanation, just keep this in mind: the alignment that most closely suits John Constantine is chaotic neutral.


	5. Oh bugger...

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Oh bugger…

John woke up upstairs in his bed, with a foul, sour rot taste deep in his mouth and wondering how the hell it was possible to have two headaches at the same time. He gingerly probed the site of one, and found a depressingly noticeable bump. With a degree of horrified fascination, he touched it a little more until his none-too-steady, palsied fingers slipped and prodded it. 

The stab of pain jerked him into a half-reclining position, spots blooming in dark blue iridescence across his eyes, and the headaches worsened cheerfully until his head felt like a single, massive throbbing vein. "_Bugger_," he tried, but his voice rasped as though his throat had suffered lacerations and was consequently hung out on the Sun to dry. "Bloody hell…"

"Serves you right for drinking, sparrow." John felt the bed depressing to one side, so he turned his head with some effort. A filmy shape resolved itself into Y'vair, sharpening her sword. Ah, so that was where the annoying screeching sound that was contributing to his headaches was coming from. Still operating on a primitive level, which spelled out 'Get Rid Of The Noise' in bright, glaring letters, he lunged for it, but she shoved him easily back onto the bed. "Swords don't stay sharp by magic. 'Twas you who drank too much for your own good, sparrow."

"Usually takes more than one tankard to knock me out, luv." John tried to come up with another snappy retort, but his brain refused to cooperate, instead giving him a hostile, halfhearted wave and running away deep into the recesses of his mind to recuperate in peace. "A lot more than one," he added fuzzily, in case Y'vair didn't get the point. Leaning back against the pillow, he closed his eyes. "Oh _bugger_."

"Maybe the alcohol on this world is stronger, sparrow." Y'vair shrugged. "You rather frightened Yoshimo. He's excruciatingly sorry for this breach of honor where he so _thoughtlessly_ bought you the same alcohol as he was drinking, forgetting so _unforgivably_ that it was rather strong." John cracked open an eye, to find Y'vair was grinning impishly. "I find him rather amusing."

"Where'd he go? Committed ritual suicide?" John chuckled despite himself, though the sound seemed more like a rattlesnake's tail shivering.

"Of course not. He took it within himself to go on inquiries for us. Said he'd go see if anyone's heard of Irenicus or where the Cowled wizards – that's what the brown robes are called, typically stupid name - put their prisoners. So he left me to baby-sit a sparrow with a hangover." 

"Will you stop calling me that?" John put a pillow over his eyes. The light was too bright. Her voice was too loud. The bed was too hard. His head hurt.

"No, I find it's rather fun." Y'vair chuckled, but at least she stopped sharpening her sword. "Do you want me to sing you something?"

"No. Go away." She laughed, a merry sound, which in his current predicament he was in no shape to appreciate.

There was, to his other side, the sound of paws scuffing on carpet, a wet squeak, and a crunching noise. Dreading what he would see, he lifted up the pillow and turned his head, in time to see the end of a mouse's tail disappearing into the panther's mouth. It seemed to grin at him. Not for the first time, he wondered if the panther's spirit was feminine.

"That's the fourth one already," Y'vair said helpfully.

"If I throw up, I wonder if I can hit the two of you at the same time." Y'vair merely sniggered. John put the pillow back on his eyes with a heartfelt sigh. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Few hours," Y'vair got off the bed, and by the sound of it, was sheathing the sword and putting it on a table. "Time enough for the two of us who were actually _awake _to sell all the junk and restock supplies. Some new scrolls for you to try and look at, then when you have less of a headache, I'd teach you how to cast them."

John considered smothering himself with the pillow, at which moment the door opened and someone stepped in. At this point he couldn't care less if it were Irenicus. 

"There is a contact of the Shadow Thieves called Gaelan Bayle who would seem to know where they have taken Irenicus and K'yanae," John heard Yoshimo's voice say. "Ah, John Constantine has woken up. I am very, very sorry for what happened…"

"It's all right," John said hastily, before the thief could continue and maybe even burst into tears. "Probably my own fault."

"I found some tobacco in the slums," Yoshimo put something on the bedside table next to John. "And when you feel better, we have to see this Gaelan Bayle. His nephew will meet us outside the Copper Coronet in three hours, so you can sleep a bit more, or make these 'cigarettes' you keep talking about. We'd have to take everything when we leave…thieves, you understand."

John closed his eyes under the pillow, thought a moment, then opted for smokes.

**

The slums smelled uncomfortably familiar, like the more seedy parts of London – greasy scent of oil-smoke, the sour stench of unwashed bodies, garbage festering in the open under the sun, the sharp scent of fish laid out to dry. Flies outnumbered the people ten to one – John changed this figure to fifty to one after passing a house that hung out some sort of skins, still bloody. He wondered if the people actually knew that the skins would inevitably attract the flies, and decided he didn't care. The paving of the slums was a joke – mud, dirty water and sewage was in abundance more than cobblestones. Children played barefoot, with only what they could scavenge from the occasional garbage heaps for toys – small boxes, a bit of wood, some brightly colored string. There were no richly dressed people here – the inhabitants of this quarter contrasted starkly even with them. At least their clothes weren't patched and torn. The panther made little sounds of discontent at the scent, even if John was quite sure that it had to be used to it by now, after London.

Here were, according to Yoshimo, the dregs of Athkatla – those who lacked the ultimate 'virtue' here – money. "Athkatla is the capital city of Amn," Yoshimo chattered on, "Which is called the Merchant Kingdom, quite a suitable name. If you don't display obvious affluence, you are treated with contempt. Power is shared with the official government and the thieves' guild."

"Interesting," Y'vair pulled her hood further over her eyes. They had left their staves behind, seeing not much point in lugging the bulky things around. "Sort of like Baldur's Gate now – the Grand Dukes and the Black Talons."

"Ah, but K'yanae's father, who leads the Talons, is also a Duke, so the balance is better than it is here." Yoshimo pointed out. "I wonder how he'd react to the news. Lay siege to Athkatla and exterminate the Cowled wizards, maybe." 

"Might be useful to have powerful backing," John stuck his fingers in his pockets, even if he didn't know anything about K'yanae's status, he had a fair inkling what a 'Duke' might be in this world. "Tell him?" Besides, the idea of someone exterminating all the Cowled wizards was very attractive.

"Eventually," Y'vair said dryly, "Once we find out how to get word to Baldur's Gate that won't be eaten up, hacked apart, murdered, hijacked, robbed, or just plain slaughtered on the way, since this is the Sword Coast. And, since this is Athkatla, the very few mages who are allowed to practice their portal-message services, according to Yoshimo, charge very, very high prices."

"How was I supposed to know?" John shrugged, but he was feeling better. The tobacco certainly didn't taste very much like what he had on his world – had some oddly rich, smooth taste, but it was passable. 

"Here we are," Yoshimo said quickly, before Y'vair could say something sarcastic.

They had reached a large, sprawling building, red-tiled in areas, thatched in areas. From inside they could hear the sounds of reveling – loud, drunken laughter, and more chattering. John didn't understand one point about the building – there appeared to be _buildings_ on it, as though its flat roof was just another street level. This sort of haphazard construction seemed characteristic of the slums. There were even, if he looked carefully, _buildings _on the _buildings_ of the building, like some grotesque cake. 

A small boy in typically scruffy clothes – though he was wearing shoes – ran forward from where he had been watching flies appreciate food hung out to dry, and grinned up at them. "There yer are! Me uncle's been waitin' long enough. C'mon, we mustn't be late." He gave no indication of having noticed the panther, as well.

He led them past a row of scrunched together terrace houses, to one that had expanded slightly into the street, but other than that looked no different. "In there," he said, then scampered away. With a shrug, John opened the door, and the rest followed him inside to a comfortably furnished room – bookshelves, a sofa, tables and chairs, nothing spectacular, but nothing drab either. A man lounging on the sofa, wearing leather armor, bounded nervously to his feet when they entered. He had a sallow, thin face, weasel-like, as was the rest of his body, and a twitch under his right eye. When he spoke, his voice wasn't much of an improvement.

"Cooo! I see that my nephew has done well! Welcome to Athkatla, John Constantine."

John blinked, then decided not to give the man any pleasure by saying what was expected – i.e. demanding how he knew his name, and concentrate instead on calming down his fists, which were itching to punch the 'Cooo!' out of him. "Whatever. I've heard you have information we should like to have. About Irenicus, and wherever they took him and K'yanae."

"Ah, the werewolf leader of the Baldur's Gate thieves," Gaelan Bayle said, with the gleeful look of someone who has everything going his way. "Well then, we Shadow Thieves have been watching your group, and with some payment we would be happy to help you."

"Shadow thieves? Help K'yanae?" Y'vair sneered. "The rivalry between thief guilds is quite well known, Mister Bayle." Even the 'Mister' was stressed such that it became not so much as a term of respect than that of contempt. 

Gaelan Bayle was not distressed by the hostility. "We do not care about her, that is true, but we have interests of our own in seeing that Irenicus is…disadvantaged. He has caused some disruption in the city."

"Hence the lot of you fighting in his dungeon?" John snorted. "Didn't do a very good job of killing him."

"He is a powerful mage, the most powerful we have seen," Gaelan Bayle said defensively. "In any case, we know where they are kept, and we have the means to get you there."

"You could give us the information, and we'd find our way there. The good thing out of this arrangement is, you won't die," Y'vair said matter-of-factly. The panther glanced at them, then padded around behind Bayle, who, like all those it was considering biting, couldn't see it. John shook his head slightly at it, so it sat down behind the thief philosophically.

"Ah, but the exact place where they are is extremely difficult to get to, and is off any map in existence. It so happens we know the very way, the only way that can get you there."

"And you're going to help us out of the goodness of your heart?" John said dryly. "Somehow I find that very hard to believe."

"Of course that is not possible. You will have to pay a fee, and the price of the voyage, all of which would add up to fifty thousand gold coins." Bayle said calmly.

"Fifty thousand!" Yoshimo choked. "I don't think I've seen that much money in one place at one time!"

"Can't you lower the price?" Y'vair put one hand on the hilt of her sword.

"This is the lowest we can go," Bayle held his ground. "Bribes have to be arranged, and such, just to get you in."

"In exactly where, you haven't told us, you dickless little shite," John was growing very tired of Bayle's patronizing attitude. If the idiot told them where… "And we never said anything about _wanting _to go there."

Bayle looked surprised. "But…"

"As you said, Irenicus is the most powerful mage you've seen," Y'vair agreed. "And by what I saw when he took on all those Cowled wizards at the same time, as well as K'yanae, it is entirely likely that if we were to fight him, the fight would be exceedingly one-sided, and to our disadvantage."

"So," John continued, with a grin, "You could tell us where he is, and we'd proceed from there."

"Revenge…" Bayle began, obviously losing it.

"Unlike certain people, I happen to know that revenge can be had without having to personally step up to him and stick a sword in his gut," John said coldly. Yoshimo was staring at Y'vair and John with a certain degree of fascination, as one would stare at a heirloom that has always worked perfectly for forty years but suddenly goes quite cuckoo. 

"Then your friend…"

"No doubt she's a very nice person, but I can hardly call her friend – only known her for a few hours," John continued.

"Right, fine," Bayle gave up. "I have to inform my superiors of this new…development. But the offer still stands, if you are interested."

"So, where is this place?" Yoshimo asked again. "You have avoided telling us. We could always, of course, go to the Government district and bribe other Cowled wizards, but if you wish us to even consider your offer again, you'd better provide something of use."

Bayle shrugged. "Information is never free. If you accept the offer, and if you raise the money, then you will be told. You will not be able to force it out of me, because I have not been told either." 

"Now that was very helpful," John remarked sarcastically when they left the house.

"He knew about us," Yoshimo explained, "Our names, and what had happened. Shadow thieves are good spies. So I thought…ah hell. I should have remembered that Shadow Thief help isn't always the best sort. But in this case it seemed the only sort."

"Good try, though. Maybe we should seriously consider petitioning Baldur's Gate," Y'vair suggested, looking resigned. "Perhaps the Black Talons would know. And fifty thousand is nothing to K'yanae's father."

"Should we even discuss this in the open?" John glanced around, frowning. "I think someone's watching." The prickling sensation he got on the back of his neck when something he had a bad feeling about was near was starting. The panther growled in assent.

"Everyone's staring. If you don't look like you're the down-in-the-gutter poor here, you'd get stared at," Yoshimo brushed it off. "And since the whole world seems to know what we're here for – damn spies – then I see no point in conspiracy."

"So where to now?" Y'vair asked a very pertinent question.

"We could try to raise the money," Yoshimo said doubtfully.

"Is there a rich quarter in this city?" John asked, fingering the bulge of the tobacco pouch.

"Of course." Yoshimo glanced at him. "You're not suggesting robbery, are you? Guards are _everywhere_."

"Wouldn't dream of it," John smiled. "I can explain later. Just bring us there."

"Could be some in the Copper Coronet. Sometimes the nobles go in there to have a drink and some company." Yoshimo led them back to the grotesque building.

**

Rowdy could be a good word to describe the interior. Its many patrons filled the tables that seemed to be arranged randomly, without any sort of discernable pattern. John idly tried to count the amount of meat roasting on the spits on the large grille in the center of the room, and trailed off, adjusting his eyes to the light. Yoshimo and Y'vair, caught up in their game of 'Spot a likely nobleman', were too happily preoccupied to notice that, for a change, they weren't drawing any stares. Even in this place there were guards. John wondered how much tax the city charged.

"There's one there near the foot of the staircase, the one with the sword," Y'vair murmured. "The emboss on his breastplate is very rich."

"The one with the dragon design? Could be," Yoshimo said critically. "Well, John Constantine?"

John shrugged. When they were close enough he walked up to the man and just looked at him. The man turned, and John frowned – there was something wrong about him – as though he wasn't…human. Deciding not to stare, he murmured an apology and was about to go when the man spoke imperiously. "You look like a likely adventurer. Are you interested in money?"

"Aren't we all?" he said casually, wondering why synchronicity wasn't working for him. Unless…well, synchronicity had never really worked with demons before. A demon? At this point, he felt the panther nudge his leg, and growl a warning. 

"I am Lord Jierdan Firkaag," he said coldly. "Do you have associates, adventurer?"

"I might have," John decided not to reveal more than was necessary. "How much money?"

"Oh, perhaps forty thousand, but it is negotiable," Firkaag said airily. "To clear up a spot of trouble on my land."

"Forty thousand sounds a lot for just a 'spot of trouble'," John pointed out. "What sort of trouble?"

"Bandits, some monsters are the most of it, but the trouble itself are two groups of adventurers trying to steal my gold," Firkaag said angrily. "One group calls themselves paladins, and the other is a motley group of treasure hunters. Get rid of them."

"That's all?" John had the feeling Firkaag was withholding information. "How big are these groups, then, if that is all?"

"You might experience difficulty if you were to take them on yourself, as they have about seven skilled members in each. Spellcasters, fighters, and such." Firkaag said, with an intense stare. John had seen less intense stares on rabid falcons. "Well?"

There was definitely something not right about the man. "Where is this place, then?"

"My lands are in the Windspear Hills. No doubt you can find your way there without getting lost. I'd see you there, eventually. When you finish the deed, find me in my dwelling there – the ruins northwards of the small village. It should not be too hard to locate." Firkaag inclined his head arrogantly and strode away. His attitude problem rather reminded him of a certain now-fallen Archangel that John had orchestrated the downfall of, and that rather cheered him a little.

"Well?" Y'vair approached and poked him in the shoulder. "Was that it? I thought you were going to somehow…"

"Didn't work on him," John murmured. "Next time pick me someone human, okay?"

"Human?" Yoshimo's eyes widened.

"Synchronicity doesn't work on the demonic, which is probably why I haven't managed to stop Y'vair from calling me sparrow," John winked at her, "So. But he said something of interest. If we were to go up to the Windspear Hills, wherever that is, and clear up something which he doesn't seem to be able to clear up, then we can collect forty thousand beans. Those somethings involve 'paladins', other adventurers, monsters and bandits."

"Beans?" Yoshimo looked even more confused.

John sighed. "Coins. Money. Slang word."

"Ah." Y'vair said absently, then frowned. "He wasn't demonic. I would have sensed it."

"Wasn't human either, luv." John said firmly, and looked down at the panther, which was still growling to itself and scanning the room for him. "Believe me on this."

"Very well…so do we do it, or…" Yoshimo asked. "Just three of us? I apologize, but I do not particularly wish to confront those which he spoke of." 

"Find me a human nobleman," John grinned.

"Well, while you were talking to Firkaag, sparrow, we spoke to the person who owns the Copper Coronet. Name of Lehtinaan, a slimy bastard, but after we implied we had a lot of money he agreed to let us into the back rooms, where the more degenerate nobles go to have fun." Y'vair nodded up at the top of the staircase, where a bouncer stood at a door.

The bouncer let them through – to a small open space, which led to a corridor with rooms on either side. By the smell, this was quite likely the brothel.

"Good afternoon, lady," a young man, dressed richly but tastelessly in foppish clothes of many mismatching colors, and in tights (_tights?_) approached them, or rather, approached Y'vair, whose hood had fallen back enough to reveal her face, though not the ears and horns. "Would you be interested in…"

Before Y'vair could react, John stepped forward. "No, I doubt she would be, but…"

"Oh! I was just thinking…" the man smiled brightly. "Here, my purse – it's all the money I have now, but…"

"That'd do fine. Thanks," John took the heavy purse.

"It's the least I can do," the man was still smiling brightly, such that John's jaw ached in sympathy. "If you need to find me, my card is in the purse! See you around…" he shook John's hand, then left the room.

John wordlessly handed the purse to Yoshimo, whose mouth was open. So was Y'vair's.

"How did you do that?" Y'vair blinked. "Are you…do you have psionic powers?"

"That, was synchronicity," John shrugged. "It's difficult to explain, but yes, it's magic. Usually I try not to use it because it attracts attention on the world where I come from, and I seem to collect enemies like a black wooly shirt collects lint." They seemed out of earshot of anyone who might be eavesdropping.

"Why didn't you try it on Bayle?" Yoshimo asked, looking through the purse. "Must have a thousand in here, if you include the value of the baubles. Amazing."

"Because he didn't know where they were, and the Shadow Thieves sounds like a big group, too many to put the mojo on." John glanced around. "A thousand, you say? Maybe we can find fifty more." He grinned. "But we're being watched, so I think we should settle for fleecing those in this building."

"Sounds like a plan." Y'vair grinned.

As if on cue, yet another foppish man – with a scantily clad woman clinging to his arm, giggling inanely, emerged from a room. He was obviously drunk, as he weaved towards them. "Have you seen my wife around?" he asked. His breath smelled of stale beer, and the group tried not to breathe too deeply.

"Who?" Y'vair asked politely.

"Why, Tania of course. I thought everyone's heard of her. Or could hear her. I forget." He nuzzled the neck of the woman, who giggled louder.

"Oh darling! I love it when you do that…mmm…" 

"Haven't seen her," Y'vair winked at Yoshimo, who tried to keep from sniggering. John raised an eyebrow at them, but Y'vair gestured for him to keep silent.

"Oh well then, if you see her, do tell her I'm not here." The man started kissing the girl enthusiastically, even with her murmured protests that they were in public. Y'vair grinned wickedly, waved them to stay, then walked quickly out of the door.

"What…" John began, but Yoshimo hushed him.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion outside. "Let me in! Let me IN right NOW, you horrible little MAN!"

The poor bouncer's couldn't get out of the woman's way fast enough. "Yes ma'am! Er…right ma'am." 

John saw a hard-faced woman; hair tied into a stern bun, bearing down on them, after having shoved the bouncer out of the way. He felt like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, but it turned out that she wasn't looking for him. "Rhonar? RHONAR! Where are you?"

"Tania!" Rhonar, the man with the giggling girl, gasped in horror. 

"RHONAR!" Tania marched past them, practically sizzling with fury. John found himself backing into the wall, Yoshimo included. The cat made a sound somewhat like a whimper. "You little slut! Get away from my HUSBAND!"

"Slut?" the girl's breathy voice hitched higher in indignation. "I'd give you slut, you…you _harpy_!"

"Harpy? HARPY? That's IT!" Tania drew a dagger and charged. The girl also drew a dagger. The ensuing catfight could have been amusing, but from a distance – as Rhonar watched in horror, Tania cut down the other girl, after suffering some deep scratches. 

"There! THAT SERVES YOU RIGHT, you SLUT! Rhonar, come home with me THIS MINUTE!"

"You…you killed for me?" Rhonar stared, wide-eyed, at the corpse of his former paramour.

"Of course I'd kill for you! Any SLUT who lays hands on my HUSBAND…"

"Oh my honey bun…" Rhonar simpered.

As they made their way out, they passed a very amused Y'vair, who waited till the couple had left, before laughing out loud. "By the Gods. I have never seen such…" she laughed a little more, gasping sobs of mirth, "I simply _must _write a song about this."

John looked at the body. For some reason, life seemed to be valued less on this world…on his, Rhonar was likely to run screaming to the nearest policeman, but here…John found himself chuckling as well. Yoshimo still looked stunned. "What a tiger!" he said, shaking his head.

"I suppose you saw her downstairs, luv?" John grinned at Y'vair.

"Yes. She grabbed Yoshimo and demanded if he'd seen her 'no-good philandering bastard of a husband'," Y'vair mimicked Tania's rough voice perfectly, then dissolved into laughter again. 

"Are we going to continue?" Yoshimo asked, after she calmed down.

"Considering what takes place behind those doors, I don't think this is a good place to look," John said slyly. "Couples won't be paying much attention to my magic."

"There are other rooms, I suppose." Y'vair opened another door. It led to a staircase descending into another dimly lit room, from which they could hear distant murmurs of voices. "Down there?"

The staircase led to a cold stone corridor, which seemed uniform to John, but Yoshimo stopped suddenly at what looked like a perfectly ordinary stretch of wall, glanced at it, and then pressed something. With a rumble, the stone slid away neatly to a hidden recess, being much thinner than the actual walls – and the scent of opium assaulted John's nostrils.

"Drugs," Y'vair sighed. "These people won't be very receptive either, would they?"

"They won't be very conscious either," Yoshimo smiled. "Stay here." He entered, to return afterwards patting his pockets. "Not as much as the purse, but rather satisfying."

"We'd take forever to raise fifty thousand," Y'vair sighed.

They came up to a steel-bound door, which Yoshimo philosophically lockpicked. It turned out not to be a good idea, because the guards inside immediately attacked. Being armored with helmets, John opted to use throwing knives, and downed one, the knife quivering in the man's throat as he went down. His second knife glanced off another guard's armor, but it didn't matter – the panther pounced and tore out the guard's throat.

Yoshimo proved rather good at a bow – managing to take out another guard – and Y'vair engaged with a magical battle with the mage. Shields were raised, then each side tried to break down the other's shields – but due to the mage not wearing armor, when his shield against missiles (according to Y'vair) went down, Yoshimo picked him off, as well. 

The last guard charged with an enraged yell, swinging his sword, and Y'vair engaged him, retreating in a circle until the guard's back faced Yoshimo, who promptly backstabbed the guard with his own sword.

"Everyone okay?" Y'vair was breathing heavily. "Got hit by a dart in the arm, but it doesn't smell poisoned." She dropped the object. "Don't think it's deep enough to waste potion on…" she tore out a piece of a guard's cloak and used it to staunch the blood flow. 

"Arrow nicked my ear," Yoshimo shrugged. "Nothing important." 

John had managed to stay unhurt, due to luck and the fact that he had been slightly behind Yoshimo and the door. He realized, belatedly, that there were other people in the room – prisoners, perhaps, behind bars. Then he realized that a number of them were children, about thirty, who stared at them in fear.

"What the…" he walked up to the cell with adult men, armed men, in it. "What's this?"

"We are slaves," one of the men said. "Slaves of Lehtinaan, forced to fight for entertainment in his arenas. You killed the guards – so you are not of his men?" He had a voice that sounded as though he was talking from his throat – flat and slightly breathless.

"Children fight?" John said disbelievingly.

The faces of the adults darkened perceptively. "The children and women are sold. Lehtinaan picks them up from the streets, those who won't be missed. Sold for cheap labor that requires nimble hands, or worse things. I beg of you, free us!"

John looked to the other two, who nodded. There were lives of children involved, and they had to try…this instinctual protective urge, in John's case, had been unconsciously strengthened due to Newcastle. The thought of leaving them all to their fate didn't cross his mind – or if it did, crossed in the manner of a soldier crossing an area under fire – i.e. as fast as possible.

Yoshimo looked at the locks. "These don't look conventional…"

"More odd twisting bits of metal?" Y'vair rolled her eyes. "_Honestly_, these people…Right then, do you know where to get the key?"

"The Beastmaster has it," the spokesperson for the prisoner said. "He's somewhere southwards of the arena – the door to it is that one. Beware, his animals protect him. May the Gods bless you!"

The arena was deserted except for a winter wolf that the panther took care of. It was mostly made of three circles of rails around large, relatively shallow pits where presumably men fought against men, or against animals. The rest of the arena was sandy ground, with an upraised platform that looked as though it was a spectator's stand. The aforementioned door was open – through which they could hear the grunts and growls of animals. 

Yoshimo sneaked around such that he was at the side of the door, then motioned for them to do the same. They'd noticed a man dressed in skins and chain mail armor at the end of the corridor, patting something that looked like a huge leopard. At a cue from Y'vair, they leaped out, and Yoshimo shot an arrow, but the Beastmaster stood up in his surprise, so instead of hitting his throat it glanced off his chain mail. A second arrow managed to bury itself in the skull of the giant leopard, which promptly dropped dead.

"No!" the Beastmaster shouted, a howl of grief. He yelled a command, and beasts shuffled out of their cells, growling with maddened intent.

Y'vair chanted something, and fire spat out from her fingers, singeing the hair of a bear, which roared in pain and fear. The animals, afraid of the fire, surged back from Y'vair, in their haste to run from the lengthening frame trampling the Beastmaster, whose arrow jerked in flight and barely missed John, who was hauled out of the way by Yoshimo. The rest of it was a slaughter – picking off the animals with slings, throwing knives and arrows, and when enough were down and the Beastmaster, one leg useless, tried to stand up, the panther was there.

Eventually they sorted through his things and picked up what was of value – better arrows and a bow, but nothing else other than the key, which they used to free the prisoners.

"We will fight our way out and kill the guards," the spokesperson said, "Can you escort the children out? There is another way – a door in the arena. The way we will take should have more guards – I hear their voices, the alarm has been given."

"Fine," John said, feeling uncomfortable as the children huddled around the three of them.

"My debt to you cannot be paid," the man bowed. "My name is Hendak, and we shall talk again after I kill that bastard Lehtinaan."

Feeling like sheepherders, they escorted the children through the arena to the door, which, as fate decreed, was open and through which some guards were charging through, no doubt attempting to take the slaves from behind. 

"Oh, fu-" Too many – seven guards. Six now – the panther having reacted faster than them. Yoshimo grimaced as an arrow buried itself into his left shoulder, but drew his katana with his right hand – he couldn't use a bow with the injury. Y'vair stunned a guard with a pink ball (what was this with funny spells?), close enough for Yoshimo to cut his throat, then summoned up some orange pelted wolves which served as a distraction while John practiced throwing daggers.

One of the wolves went down, but not before it hamstrung a guard. As said guard cursed and dropped, the panther was there. Another guard tried to stab blindly at the panther, which it could not see, but it moved out of the way and crushed his wrist. The remaining wolf lunged, fangs closing on the guard's neck, twisting as the guard fell, snapping bone.

Three more guards – better odds, but not by much – two had reached Y'vair, and Yoshimo was being harassed by the last, useless arm hanging by his side. Since Y'vair was closer, John opted to help her first, grimacing, physical combat not being his good point, but slingshot broke the nose of one, causing him to stagger back, long enough for Y'vair to thrust her blade home. The other took advantage of the opening to raise his sword, so John used his throwing knife, embedding one in the palm of his hand such that he yelped and dropped it. Y'vair pirouetted gracefully and slashed him across the neck.

A loud clatter alerted them – Yoshimo had been disarmed, and was backing away quickly. The panther lunged, knocking down the last guard with a growl, and the rest was predictable as Yoshimo stepped on the guard's sword hand as he attempted to stab what he could not see.

Breathing hard, they turned to look at the children – though obviously frightened, they were unhurt. There was a flash of orange light as the summoned wolf disappeared, and the panther sat down to wash itself of blood. Yoshimo yanked out the arrow with a grunt, and took some potion, as did Y'vair.

"Again you are unhurt, sparrow." Y'vair grinned. 

"Always been lucky, luv." John retrieved his throwing knives as he usually did, wiping them clean. "Where I come from, I'm banned from most gambling areas."

They led the children out, in time to see Hendak kill Lehtinaan. Oddly enough, the city guards didn't react at all. 

"My friends!" Hendak called to them. "You have freed the children! Ah, my debt, as I have said, cannot be repaid. You will always be welcome here – I have taken over this place from this scum." He kicked Lehtinaan's body contemptuously. "But I am afraid I have one more thing to ask of you. There is another slave enclave I believe, underneath this place that can be reached through the sewers. There is where they keep the rest of the children…"

"Why don't you ask the city guards? Or is slavery allowed here?" John asked, once they were close enough. Y'vair herded the children to a side and stood there rather protectively.

"This city is a bureaucracy," Hendak said simply.

"Ah, point taken," John grimaced. The time it took for bureaucracies to act was legendary. "Damn. I think we need more potions."

"I can help with that." A corpulent man approached them.

"This is Bernard, the barkeeper," Hendak introduced. "He can show you the stores. Everything is on me."

They equipped themselves with some better weaponry and potions, as well as some mage scrolls for Y'vair, and emerged to see Hendak speaking earnestly with a well-dressed young woman, who, from the richness of her clothing, looked noble-born.

"Lady Nalia here says that she would be willing to take care of the children, having the funds to do so, but there is a problem with her castle," Hendak told them. 

"Could you help me? My father is inside it, and I barely got out. No one's been willing to help so far…" she trailed off nervously. Her hair was braided elaborately over a face that could be called pretty, and which John oddly instantly disliked. He was prone to irrational urges on occasion. 

"What sort of trouble?" Y'vair sighed. "Everyone seems to be interested in us today."

"Trolls," Hendak said simply.

"_What_!? And you expect us to help you? Against a castle full of _trolls_?" Y'vair exploded. "Have you any idea…those things are huge! They eat people! They also can't die unless you burn them!"

"The gladiators will help," Hendak said soothingly, "Because Lady Nalia has offered them room and board there, if they would help her free the castle. And there is nowhere else the children may stay…"

"Look, our primary goal is to locate this guy called Irenicus and wherever the Cowled Wizards took him and a friend of ours, understand? We are not heroes for hire!" John decided to join in. "Unless you have fifty thousand gold coins to spare for us to get the information and the help, I think we'd just free the children in the sewers, and you take care of the rest."

"Or, if you happen to know a fast way to get word to Baldur's Gate," Yoshimo added as an afterthought.

"A wizard…" Nalia hesitated. "I know a wizard in Athkatla who might be willing. He is an old family friend, and he has the necessary spells. I have heard him speaking with my father before via a large mirror. _But_, I will only bring you there to him when you help me. _After _you help."

Y'vair and Yoshimo looked to John. John shoved his hands into his pockets. It looked as though they had little other choice.

"Right, fine. So we go to the sewers to free some kids, then we go free a fortress full of trolls. Bloody hell! Why don't we just go fight some bloody dragons and rescue some bloody princesses while we're at it?"

--

Little Notes and References:

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Synchronicity: Unfortunately, I'm not exactly sure how John's magic works – except that at times he can be very, very persuasive – though not to certain people, and only to a certain extent, or he would have told the First of the Fallen to invade Heaven by himself. That sort of thing. However, what I got by the Trenchcoat Brigade issues was that he can use it to find a way out of an area, or find something, but it doesn't work properly all the time. Besides, as he said, it attracts attention – one time it caused him to drop his guard, and got sent on a traumatizing witchwalk in some apocalyptic America by Papa Midnight.

I got the first Books of Magic, and there are two references to his magic in it, rather vague, even contradictory. It's all perception, I suppose. Boston Brand says 'He's riding the synchronicity freeway, and so everything just falls into place; time, movement, even distance just sit up and beg for him.' Zatanna says 'John, you _don't _have any _power _to speak of. Any one of them could have torn you to _shreds_.' This is when John rescues her and Tim from a party full of evil creatures, just by saying that the boy's under his reputation, and wondering if anyone wanted to start anything. He's mostly a trickster, apparently, but then again he sort of appears later, admittedly dying, in an alternate future which Tim visits, where he was participating in a huge magical fight, or rather, he'd already participated. He does do magic in his own books (d'oh), but they're rather odd, and won't really apply in the FR sense, I think. Ah heck, just have to see what I can do.

In another Books of Magic, can't remember which trade paperback, John threw knives rather well. ;) Or a knife, non-plural. 

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So as you can see, I have no idea, which means, I'm free to make up something, haha. Different world! Different world!

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The Rhonar Incident: This actually happens in the game, and it's much more fun to snitch on Rhonar. J 

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Newcastle: I think I explained this before in Rebel Heart. Basically the most traumatic incident (I think) in Constantine's life, where a little girl called Astra, due to the household having demonic problems and hence calling John and band for help, trusted him to protect her. However, due to cockiness and the arrogance of youth, he made a mistake, and condemned Astra to hell. This severely traumatized him for a long, long while – and also caused him to end up in an asylum for the criminally insane called Ravenscar. 

__

The Plot: Is getting away from me, since I have to change bits of it since the story is no longer hinged on someone being a Bhaalspawn and having to rescue his half-sister. Yes, I don't like Nalia. To all those who haven't played Baldur's Gate II, she sucks – dual classed level 4 thief and mage (which can advance, but the thief can't). She is a sad replacement for Imoen, she has an annoying voice ("This is *almost* beneath me"), and I just don't like her. 


	6. ...bint...

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

…bint…

With dismal finality, it began to rain, light and refreshing at first, a welcome change from the unforgiving sun, then, heavier, the chatter of fat drops on metal, this rhythmic pattering dance, grew louder until the rain was not rain but a gray veil of sleeting water that hazed out vision and caused morale to drop, even though Y'vair tried to keep up everyone's spirits by singing. Her voice, even unaccompanied, could be described as angelic, though none of the angels that John had ever met had ever shown the slightest inclination towards the artistic. Just the thought of, say, the Phantom Stranger breaking into song would be as odd as if Mr. E had suddenly decided to wear pink. Hers was music that touched the soul and caused the throat to constrict when it gave life to a melancholic song, caused the heart to soar when it rose in joy. Bards were apparently a very select group of people – you had to have a certain talent before you were even considered as one. Y'vair had a lot of it, as far as John's inexperienced ears could tell.

Still, the rain put a damper on everyone's spirits, pun intended. It drenched them to the skin in seconds, causing Hendak's men to mutter about rust, pooled at the back of one's neck, caused hair to cling annoyingly to the face, wet leeches, and trickled slyly down one's back. Boots filled with water, squelching disagreeably and John felt as though his toes would never be dry again. The panther looked like a giant, miserable black rat as it padded disconsolately next to John, giving voice to an occasional whimper. 

They were trekking to Nalia's fortress, a trip that she estimated for five day's march. John had passed the time reflecting on what he would do once he got out of this world, and so far he had narrowed it down to three things. One, he would buy an umbrella or, if possible, just never get the hell out of shelter during a rain. Two, he was going to buy Silk Cut and maybe chain a packet to his coat in case he ever got sucked out into a damned alternate world which was deprived of cigarettes. Three, he was never going to walk so much at one go in his life ever again. If he had to, he would consider buying a car and learning how to drive properly. To say his feet and legs ached was like calling a gale a stiff wind, or the current presidency of the most powerful country in the world 'slightly confused', but we're getting a little ahead of ourselves.

It wasn't that he hadn't been trying to 'cheat'. He did attempt to, but not for the first time (though it was technically rather rare), synchronicity seemed to have failed him. On his world they would have gotten there by now, in less than half an hour if he'd really wanted it to be so…

Damn, if this didn't work, what the _hell_ else didn't work? John wasn't really sure he wanted to find out. But the trick with wallets worked. Something was obviously going wrong, somewhere.

The slave stockade beneath the Copper Coronet had been fairly manageable, with only two rather tricky spots involving a confusion of large men armed to the gums, possibly even the back of the throat, but with the help of Hendak's men and some self-righteous knights that had been drinking in the Copper Coronet, they had done it. The children were safe in the Copper Coronet, the knights having declared (probably under all that alcohol, or maybe concussion) to protect them with their lives until Hendak and company returned. So knights were useful for something after all! Not mere tinned humans who went around bonking people on the head, and for variety, tried to poke each other off horses with a long stick…

So now they marched – the three of them, a panther, Hendak, Nalia and about ten men, woefully few in number, to try and retake a fortress full of trolls. He had devoutly hoped they weren't like the trolls on his world, but by Y'vair's description, they sounded a tad _worse_. John wondered when he had developed these sorts of suicidal tendencies, but he knew that if he were to try and run from this, he'd never be able to get back to his proper world. That didn't help his mood one bit, and neither did the cold, gut wrenching feeling that he had no _idea_ what to do about Irenicus, other than a vague determination to find the bastard's exact position and character. For one of the first times in his life, he couldn't for the life of him come up with cards up his sleeve, but he could wait. Perhaps he'd just have to accept that this time, the deed had to be accomplished with pure, unadulterated force. The idea of it was unsettling, but deeply appealing in some primal way…

The cat looked up suddenly and growled softly, turning green eyes towards the trees, as if daring them to hide whatever it thought they were hiding. 

"Oh, shut up," he muttered to it. "That's the sixth time you've done that, and I haven't seen anything. I'm beginning to think you're doing this for fun." 

It bared its teeth at him, and blinked its large green eyes several times, deliberately.

"Yeah, yeah, blame me poor eyesight." His fingers dipped inside the growing pool of water inside his trenchcoat, and he grumbled inaudibly to himself. 

"Talking to yourself, sparrow?" Y'vair loped up next to him, still managing to appear graceful even through the stinging rain.

"No, to the Giant Rat of Sumatra badly dressed as a panther," John nodded his head at the panther, who growled at him playfully, understanding the reference. "Haven't flipped yet, luv."

"Is that a part of out-worlder language, sparrow? Saying 'luv' all the time to females? But you don't say it to her." She inclined her head in the direction of Nalia, who was speaking with Hendak somewhere in front of them.

"That's because I don't like her, luv." John murmured. "That feeling of 'I'm so very high born, but I'm deigning to help the commoners, oh look at me' strikes me whenever she speaks to us." He dropped the strangled, public school student's voice that he had adopted. "Whereas I like you, except for your tendency to refer to me as a drab little brown bird."

"You _are_ a drab little brown bird," she grinned. As he blinked, she expanded on her metaphor; "Brown coat, dull colors, and sparrows are cute."

John's intended retort that she wasn't very tall either by any standards keeled over and expired ignominiously on the tip of his tongue, as his brain decided to change tack to see if the other approach annoyed Y'vair. Somehow he doubted it would, but it was more enjoyable…though usually, for some reason, when he tried it on stewardesses he just got slapped. "Was that a compliment, luv?"

She pushed wet strands of hair out of her eyes, a gesture he found rather endearing. The hood had been removed, after they'd fully introduced themselves to Hendak and his men – they were uneasy around her, but not outright hostile, which Y'vair claimed was fine by her, with a tired set to her jaw that may or may not have been a symptom of resignation. "Looked in a mirror lately, sparrow?"

"If I had one now, a word I would use to describe myself with would probably be related to 'damp'." John squeezed a section of his trenchcoat, watching water dribble halfheartedly onto the grass. Actually he did know what she was implying, but it amused him to provoke her into saying it out loud.

"You are exasperating," Y'vair chuckled throatily, demonstrating that she knew exactly what he was up to. "I…"

Yoshimo, uncharacteristically showing up at the wrong time, appeared at John's shoulder. "Having a war party?" 

"Parties should not be in these conditions," Y'vair patted her scabbard, unruffled by Yoshimo's sudden appearance. "At this rate, before we even reach the place all our weapons would have rusted themselves fused to their scabbards. Or maybe even disintegrated."

"Something's still following us, did you know?" Yoshimo said conversationally. Whispers tended to attract attention. "Movement in the trees. I _hate _trees, especially if there're lots of them in once place at one time. Too many places to hide in."

The cat made a noise like a snigger, and bared its teeth at John. _I told you so…_

"Yeah, okay…so whoever it was, or whatever it was, followed us from the city. Hasn't attacked us yet, so we leave it alone. Which reminds me. You said something about bribing Cowled Wizards to tell us where they put their prisoners…?"

"Yes…" Yoshimo pulled at his hood. "This blasted rain! Oh yes, we could do that – but if we knew where he was, we hardly know what to do with the information, do we?"

"Not yet, mate." John said cheerfully, even though it's hard to be cheerful when soaking wet in a consistent downpour. Y'vair glared at him, green eyes flashing, then shrugged. 

"To pass the time, sparrow, want to learn magic?"

John stared at her, then laughed out loud, at Yoshimo's astonished expression, at Y'vair's wicked grin, at Hendak and the rest, staring at him, at the absurdity of the question, at the way his world had inverted since birth, before birth…deep felt, a welcome release from the pain and the pent-up misery of the past years – for if one thing can be purifying, a no-strings-attached cleanser for the soul, it is mirth. To mock the world is to accept its pain.

"No one's asked me that for a long time, luv." John subsided into chortles. "_No one_."

"Too long, then," Wet auburn strands plastered themselves to her cheeks as she ran her hands through her hair, for a brief, absurd moment resembling a feline, sleek-furred, some sort of horned Bast, though without the unattainable unearthliness of the Goddess of the Cats.

**

The rain stopped a few hours before they decided to set up camp. Y'vair's teaching didn't seem to work, even if he did understand what he was supposed to do. She didn't see anything wrong with his tries, even if he felt like an absolute prat when nothing happened. It was as though he were one of those not 'gifted', as she put it, even though she said that she could sense he had something, the way he managed to read those scrolls. And he had demon blood, and he was a Constantine. Merlin had demon blood, enabling him to be the greatest of his age…John was never particularly sure how much power he himself had, and took pains never to find out. If he found his limits, so would his enemies...that which has been defined is often less intimidating than that which is mysterious, after all. Those who openly flaunted their power always met rather violent ends…one reason why he didn't choose to live luxuriously, something he could do if he put his mind to it.

Better to live on a knife-edge between the Silver City and the Pit, playing one against the other, and feel _absolutely_ alive in the keen danger, the sharp knowledge that one step could lead to an extremely painful and violent death. Most Constantines eventually fell off the knife-edge, because they were Constantines, and that was how they would end – violent lives and violent deaths – John was grimly certain that it was how he would go, in the end, a slip, a misstep, a fall, but that didn't mean he didn't try to prolong his life. That had its price too, of course – everything to do with magic had a price. He never really lost sight of that, but he liked to gamble, too much, perhaps? Perhaps.

John was jerked out of this reverie by the smell of wet cat, which was right up there with wet dog, the Lord of Flatulence and other such demons of his acquaintance under his list of 'Things You Don't Want to Smell When Daydreaming'. He looked down, to see the panther sitting patiently in front of him. "What?"

It patted his sodden boots delicately, then padded off a little before turning back, one giant paw cocked in the air and growling urgently. 

"Fine, play Lassie all you want, cat, but I'm not going to follow like some wuss. I want to stand still for a while. I'd sit down, but I'd ruin me coat further." John closed his eyes and concentrated on his legs and feet. Maybe if he ignored them enough they'd stop screaming bloody blue murder at him.

The cat growled, this time right next to his ear. The smell of wet panther was overpowering, but he stubbornly kept his eyes closed. "Go away. You can come back when all those berks playing builder finish with their toys."

"'Berks', sparrow?" Y'vair purred into his other ear. His eyes snapped open, and since his head had been drooping down in an inclined position of rest, he got a rather interesting view, the description of which will not be mentioned because this story is going to stay below the 'R' rating for this chapter, at least.

"Uh." He focused on an amused Y'vair, leaning leisurely on the part of the tree next to him. "I realize I'm not familiar with the customs of this world, but trying to give people cardiac arrests has to be one of the odder traditions."

"I hardly know what that means, sparrow," Y'vair purred into his ear, "But if you're interested there are other…arrests…"

She was interrupted in the midst of this (to John) extremely promising exchange (my, this is getting to be a habit) by the cat, which growled loudly and pointedly at them, then tried to do the Lassie routine again. _Follow me, follow me, I'm a smart animal_…

"Go _away_," John hissed at it in the vain hope that it would obey just this once. No such hope – it opened large jaws and bared teeth, giving the implication that if need be, it might just decide to drag them there. 

Y'vair snickered, then pushed away from the tree after the panther. "Later, sparrow."

John shook his head, resigned, and then reached for his tobacco pouch. At least some things were looking up…he rolled a cigarette, and fished around for his matches. 

The sodden box that his fingers picked up barely looked like matches. Trying to be optimistic, he attempted one match anyway…but no flare of light. With annoyance, he threw the box away and quickly caught up with Y'vair. "Help me with a light?" he asked hopefully.

She wrinkled her nose. "Sorry, sparrow. I don't really like the smell of smoke. Can tolerate it, but don't like to." She paused, then added, as an afterthought, "If you did learn this world's magic you could…"

"Yeah, but I can't."

"By the gods! You know, I, like, never even _thought _of that!" Y'vair feigned shock, her voice rising a few breathing notches into what John normally classed as the voice of a classic bint. She stole a glance at his expression of annoyance, then laughed, a sound that was definitely not like tinkling bells or a silver waterfall, but a rich medley of notes, it seemed, musical notes of pure-toned mirth. Her voice was a direct representation of her mood, like the words of a poet or author often are tools of their minds for self-expression. Despite himself, John smiled, though as always it had a somewhat cynical cast to it. 

The cat sneezed at them, and then broke into an easy lope, such they had to walk briskly to catch up. 

"Where are we going now?" John asked it. It ignored him, not a very surprising reaction whenever it was going to show him something dramatic, like that time it killed…no, _dismembered_ a goblin and dragged the thing into a back alley just to try to give him a heart attack. In cat terms, the inscrutable smirk and the rasping sounds that ensued with his horrified "Jesus Christ!" were probably equivalent with a human laughing his or her butt off. It had a warped sense of humor…John had a feeling he didn't really want to see what the panther wanted him to see. He really shouldn't have allowed it to wander off earlier. The gods knew what disgusting thing it had mutilated in its patient quest to try and keep him out of 'trouble'.

Then the smell reached him abruptly, quick as a politician in need of money, sharp and coppery, the foul taste creeping up to the tip of his tongue and at the back of his throat, the scent – and presence – of blood. There was a distinct lack of a certain type of noise though – the droning buzz of insect's wings – so whatever it was had just died. Vaguely he tried to remember if he'd smelt any blood on the panther's breath. To make a bad situation worse, he could hear some sort of faint pattering, as though the rain was starting again. Great, just _great_…

"This has to be another of your sick jokes, you…you _canine_," he glowered at the panther. The look he received was profoundly withering, but the cat padded on through the trees that cast slowly lengthening shadows as the sun prepared to set, then it suddenly stopped and sat down, so abruptly that John nearly trod on its tail.

"Wha?" John stopped in time, or he would have been minus one leg and underweight to boot. "There's nothing here."

Y'vair plucked at his sleeve, and pointed upwards.

With a sickening sense of dread, he looked.

The pattering sound had not been rain, but the sound of dripping blood. Hung like laundry out to dry on the trees, blood trickling off in rivulets that pooled off frozen fingers and boots and knees, orifices, to form grotesque liquid rubies that fell and splashed against reddening grass, were several dark elves. Five of them – the part of John's brain that hadn't been battered down by the visual shock noted dryly – one female, four males, one of the males a mage. All of them had been viciously attacked by creatures wielding sharp weapons, possibly swords – some stab wounds that looked like dagger wounds yawned, crimson rips, weeping pits.

"_Christ_!" he managed to say, when his mouth remembered that it could function. "Bloody _hell_."

"What an analogy," Y'vair commented weakly. "What kind of monster…sword wounds and dagger wounds…drow…oh gods." She squeezed her eyes shut, set her shoulders, then squinted. "I'd think…recently murdered, by one person."

"_One_ person?" John blinked. "How? I've met dark elves before, and they fight like buggery…"

"The…style is the same in all the kills. Skilled _and _strong," Y'vair took shallow breaths – the stench was stronger here. "And by the…height of the deeper slashes, those that should be about chest-length of the attacker, I'd think the attacker was human-sized. Too tall for an elf – an average sized elf, at least." The thought of it was rather frightening. Whoever did this might have been the one following them – though murdering the dark elves close to their camp added plus points for said person being friendly, John was rightfully never very sure of this. After all, the First of the Fallen had killed the other two Lords of Hell just to get his soul, and not out of the evilness of his heart…

"This the one who had been following us?" John asked the panther. It sniffed the air, then nodded slowly. "Bloody hell."

"John Constantine? Y'vair?" Yoshimo could be heard calling to them, somewhere in front of them. "Where are you? There are bandits around when the sun begins to set."

"We're here," John called. "Someone slaughtered dark elves and decorated the trees with their corpses."

"What?" Yoshimo appeared, and looked. He blanched at the gruesome sight, and averted his eyes immediately, drawing some sort of symbol in the air which looked automatic, perhaps some religious sign against evil that was, by John's experience, quite useless. By unspoken decision, the three of them plus one panther moved somewhere less…bloody. "_By the gods._ I have never seen such viciousness before…even if they were dark elves, they…"

"What were dark elves doing here, anyway?" Y'vair glanced back where they had come from. "Those had spider insignias – minions of Lloth, and not Vhaeraun of the surface - they should be in the Underdark. They don't like the sunlight, and their weapons and clothes don't like the surface atmosphere either."

John sighed. He had a bad feeling as to the exact reason why…and he had been dreading it. The Goddess couldn't have cottoned on this fast, could she? But then again, he had no idea as to the exact power of Gods on this world.

"Made powerful enemies this quickly, sparrow?" Y'vair attempted to joke, but her expression rather spoiled it – she was coolly serious – if he tried to lie his way out, he was going to regret it.

John sighed. Telling the truth wasn't as fun as making up stories. "I've been to this world before, or a reflection of it – that you know."

"You didn't exactly specify what you did, other than you ended up in the Underdark…oh. What did you do?" Y'vair leaned against a tree.

"It must have been serious, if she sends a priestess and a mage after you," Yoshimo concurred.

"I didn't do anything to her!" John protested. "The Zaknafein on that world stuck a knife in her throat. Not _me_."

"Stuck a knife in her throat?" Y'vair mused. "But she is a Goddess…"

"It was not an ordinary knife, luv," John rubbed his eyes wearily. "It was the knife used for the first murder on my world. Gave it certain properties – probably reduced her power somewhat. Didn't stay to find out, I can tell you."

"So in less than a day you managed to earn the mortal hatred of a Goddess of a race renowned for their ability to kill painfully, to assassinate, to torture," Y'vair twitched her tail, her hair like a veil across her eyes so that her expression could not be revealed. Then her lips curved into a wicked grin. "I _like _that."

"I don't even know why the stupid bitch of a Goddess is trying to kill me here," John groaned. "Zaknafein didn't stick a knife into her _here_…"

"I heard somewhere that Gods share certain aspects of themselves throughout the worlds," Y'vair interrupted. 

"Which means that you have reduced the power of Lloth on all the worlds." Yoshimo still looked stunned at the supposed enormity of what John had been an accomplice in doing, his eyes rather glassy. "You are the most _disruptive _person I have ever met, with all respect, John Constantine."

"I shall take that as a compliment," John wished he had a light for his cigarette. Yoshimo grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. "Should we tell the others?"

Y'vair rubbed around the base of her horns, reaching underneath her hood – perhaps it was some glamour or such that caused people not to notice the additional bulges in the hood. "If Nalia decided to split from us, we'd never get the help of that mage of hers."

"Would she? She needs our help…" Yoshimo said doubtfully.

"Perhaps she does, and perhaps not," Y'vair mused. "Asking for help is one thing, but finding out that the person you've asked seems to have many…prominent enemies that are much worse than a fortress full of trolls is another thing."

"So, what if the drow attack camp, luv? Act all surprised and innocent? 'Why, I ain't ever seen them black skinned things in all me life!'?"

"Drow usually do not deign to speak with 'surfacers', sparrow…and since they are considered a psychotic bunch…"

"And there's still the matter of our little serial killer to deal with." John gestured graphically. "With him prowling around us…"

"So far he hasn't chosen to show up, and he did kill the group of drow for us," Y'vair argued, "So maybe he's not drow. He's probably too tall to be one, and I doubt you've managed to annoy anyone else to that extent here…"

"Me, I'm good for picking enemies," John quipped, "The strongest, the vicious, those who know how to hurt me…just because he killed those elves doesn't mean anything, luv. Might just be trying to keep me for himself."

"So…can the cat track down this killer?" Yoshimo glanced at the panther, which was still vainly trying to dry itself.

"If you really want to find him that hard, we don't need the cat. Synchronicity works better – if it is working at all," John added, as a nasty afterthought. "Damn."

"You sure you want to see this killer?" Y'vair fingered the hilt of her sword. "I personally don't _want _to meet him if he's capable of killing five dark elves by himself." 

"Can your magic just…show him?" Yoshimo said doubtfully. "I've known magic users who could do that."

"Can't remember how to," John shrugged. "I could lead, but there's the chance that magic would just lead us straight to him without time to hide, or just not work at all. Wrong world."

"We'd just get back to camp," Y'vair decided, "If anyone notices a blood-smell or stains, we can say it's the cat's fault."

"They'd buy that?" Yoshimo asked doubtfully.

"It plays enough of those stupid pranks," John agreed. "I haven't forgiven you for the goblin one, you stupid cat."

The panther gave them a dirty look.

**

No one noticed anything strange about them, so they slept and when the next day dawned, a cold, gray dawn through the thick mist, they woke barely refreshed to prepare for the next march.

Only…Nalia gasped in shock. Almost overnight the trees seemed to have thinned out in front of them, and rising out of the mist, as though floating on a cloud, was an austere fortress, high stone walls forming an ugly, squat structure that had obviously built just for function and not for beauty. Its only apparent entrance was closed tightly by a raised drawbridge, and the main wide pathway to the bridge was lined with bloody stakes, each with a skull impaled on it, a grisly ornament.

"How…" Nalia blinked, and whirled to face them, with a bright smile. "Magic, is it not? Powerful magic…"

"Finally decided to work, after sleeping a while an' all…" John lied, still feeling shocked, but barely managing not to show it. Magic for him usually never worked in such a dramatic manner, and usually not when he was asleep…it was definitely becoming several springs short of a functional clock.

"Fantastic! We can get this over with more quickly, then," Nalia said brightly. "Good morning, everyone!"

"…'good' morning yourself…" John muttered. "…fine day to get hacked to pieces, chewed up, or torn apart…"

"How do we get in?" Hendak frowned at the fortress.

"I left the captain of the guard and the remaining men in a stockade around here…come, let us take down camp and find them!" Nalia said enthusiastically, overjoyed at the thought that they were just going to go in and engage many eight-foot-tall creatures that could only be killed by fire. What an entertaining way to start the day.

"…bint…"

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Stewardesses: In Books of Magic, whenever he seems to go to 'chat up' a stewardess, he returns to Tim with slap marks on his face. 

__

Killing the Lords of Hell: The First of the Fallen killed the other two, which I can't remember their names, for John's soul, because he managed to trick all of them into curing his lung cancer by selling his soul to all three of them without the others knowing of it. When he 'died' and they came to collect, they realized at that time that letting him die would sunder Hell itself, so they cured him. Later however, the First got too pissed off with John and did that.

__

Lloth: Er yes, you didn't think Lloth would forgive Constantine, did you? Even if it's not on her world, Zaknafein did hit her in the throat with the Knife. So there would be dark elves chasing Constantine around, just to make it that more interesting for him. If you haven't figured out who the serial killer of drow is, well, you will, eventually.


	7. Interlude

Interlude  
  
"An' we meet again, though it dost cause me doubt - wert not the next Game only to see its beginning in the next eon?" Belnarath asked, fingering the hem of the sleeve of his blue, rather uniform-like robe.  
  
Seven spirits that build the worlds sat in an apparently enclosed, large chamber hewn out of solid rock, the walls polished until they turned into dull mirrors. Oddly enough, although the crafted stone furniture could be seen in hazy reflections on the stone, the spirits could not, even though they had taken approximately humanoid forms clothed in robes that represented their colors. The placing on the table seemed to change chaotically - at one moment, the blue would be seated next to the gold and white, then abruptly the placing would change again, with the blue next to the black and green. There seemed to be no pattern that mortal eye could discern, nor any sort of rhythm. The table seemed to have sprouted from the perfectly circular stone ground, itself also a flawlessly round and polished. The chairs had wide armrests, on which stood a number of figurines, which were different in number and shape for every World-Maker.  
  
"We've explained this to you already," GrayWolf said patiently. His robe seemed to be made of the gray void that took up the spaces between substance and limbo. "Our eminent leader was bored, therefore we play. There is a pun I could have wrought of that line through its similarity with a certain Bard in Belnarath's world, but I shall be nice and stop. Though the choice of moderator in this case seems odd."  
  
"Bite your tongue, brother," Shoshuna chuckled, dressed in fabric honey-gold, weaved from sunbeams, it seemed, or perhaps perfect strands of aged amber. "We rolled the dice, it fell to me."  
  
"I heartily apologize for my presumption," GrayWolf stood up and bowed grandly in mock contrition. "Please accept my humblest."  
  
"Humble? You?" Night-robed N'avsh laughed derisively.  
  
"You didn't have to say that," GrayWolf feigned hurt.  
  
"Shut up and sit down," Morikan growled. He wore pure white, blinding at times, softly soothing at times.  
  
"We could tie him down," Blood red Hat'yet suggested. "And stitch his mouth shut with virgin's hair."  
  
"How archaic," N'avsh chuckled richly, sly and seductive, a cat's purr.  
  
"It may serve its purpose," Rykvaz argued, robes the green of light playing on a starling's wing.  
  
"We are here today to play the game, not to criticize GrayWolf.deserving as he is of it," Shoshuna smiled.  
  
"Hey!" GrayWolf protested.  
  
"Shut up." Morikan said immediately. GrayWolf sank into his seat, lower lip jutting out in a pout that disappeared when N'avsh laughed at him.  
  
"It is N'avsh's turn to roll the dice," Shoshuna continued, pretending she hadn't heard. She snapped her fingers, and the dice appeared above N'avsh, who caught them deftly and gracefully. With a flick of her wrists, the dice clattered onto the playing table, which seemed to be a perfect miniaturized version of a certain portion of the Sword Coast, surrounded by pools of amorphous darkness. There were a number of figurines placed carefully on the playing table.  
  
"GrayWolf's, now." Shoshuna announced. Likewise, GrayWolf rolled his dice.  
  
"Ah, bugger." He shrugged, waving his hand. Some figurines floated forward and stopped at a certain point. They looked suspiciously like exquisitely crafted statuettes of dark elves.  
  
"You can't always be lucky," N'avsh winked at him and smiled wickedly, moving her figurine, a carving of a fighter wielding a short sword and a jeweled dagger, next to GrayWolf's dark elves.  
  
"Just rub it in, will you?" GrayWolf slumped deeper into his chair.  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
World-Makers: These were the cause of the first story.'Chronicles of Baldur's Gate', in the fanfic. Basically they're spirits that create worlds - often after the world is created they then abandon it and go do something else. The capital of the universe is a world created equally by all seven of them - called Sanctuary. On this world they occasionally meet to play cosmic or whimsical games on other worlds. Of the seven of them, three could be defined as 'evil', three as 'good' and one as 'neutral' - 'could be' because the definitions are rather vague at best. The 'evil' ones are black N'avsh of the cats, green Rykvaz of the basilisk, red Hat'yet of the serpent. Those supposedly 'good' are GrayWolf (of which color and totem is obvious), blue Belnarath of the owl, and golden Shoshuna of the unicorn. The neutral one, white Morikan of the dragons, is also Kano, the leader, due to an accident involving some stones of power.  
  
Tokens: Each World-Maker has some tokens, or figurines. Depending on how many of which side is left by the end of the game, that would be the result of the game. You can try to guess which figurines are whose, I suppose, but I like being vague on this. Haha. 


	8. It's a cold world

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It's a cold world

The acrid stench of burning troll immediately permeated the air as Yoshimo set fire to the still corpses with his torch, an insidious, nauseating smell worse than that of a charnelhouse. Even in unmoving death the trolls retained their repulsively disturbing forms – they rather resembled humans, if said humans had been stretched to a height of nine feet and then caught some devastating disease that left them painfully thin, gaunt and with an unhealthy olive green cast to their skin. Small pale gray eyes, blank in death, once burned with an unceasing hunger for flesh, and a wide mouth lined with yellow-black, sharp teeth matched the long talons surmounting the long-fingered 'hands' and three-toed feet. Nest-like, matted hair sprouted in uneven clumps on their skulls. 

They even walked in a parody of human gait, with slumped shoulders, hands dragging on the ground, ungainly, hunched, seemingly clumsy, but with unnerving agility, and possessing surprising strength. John learnt this firsthand when he accidentally got close enough to see the corded muscles in stark relief in the arms of a troll before it attempted to bite his head off with a snake-quick dart. It wasn't the first time he had to thank the panther for saving his disreputable life.

"How much closer are we to the drawbridge?" he asked Nalia, for the tenth time. It gave him something to do, and had the added advantage of being able to irritate the aristocrat. After meeting with the captain of the guard stockaded outside the castle, they'd agreed to fight their way in after sneaking through a secret passage into the castle, lower the drawbridge to allow the guard to attack, and make use of the confusion to find Nalia's father and the rest of her family, then get the hell out of there. It wasn't much of a plan, since the servants they had freed so far mentioned other monsters about, but it had a certain direct charm – besides, they wouldn't be in direct danger after the drawbridge went down. Hopefully.

"It's upstairs. We're nearing one of the hidden staircases. I don't think we'd like to encounter trolls climbing up one of the normal ones – they're steep, and a fall would break our necks. And there're too many trolls for us to handle in the courtyard proper, so we have to let the drawbridge down via the battlements." Nalia lowered her bow. "Does your cat mind scouting a little? This corridor goes round a few bends, and ambushes…" 

The panther glanced at John, who nodded. It sniffed, then loped away in perfect silence, muscles rippling under black fur. 

"This place is a warren of corridors, traps and secret rooms," Y'vair said admiringly. "Your ancestors must have been entertained too much by the wrong stories. Some day I may have to appeal to you for permission to stage a play here. Pity they don't have any more flame arrow caches." Flame arrows somehow burst into flame in mid-flight when loosed from a bow...useful when trying to burn a 'dead' troll in a hurry before it regenerated. Yoshimo had attempted to explain exactly why, but John, never having been one for aerodynamics or physics, had tuned the thief off.

"Not too bad so far on this side," Hendak said. They'd decided to split up out of practicality – the corridors were narrow, and too many people would just get into each other's way. Y'vair, Constantine, Yoshimo and the cat had gone one way, and Nalia and the rest the other, around a ring of corridors until they'd finally met up again at a confluence that led to wider corridors, to advance upstairs together. So far Yoshimo nursed a nasty scratch on his arm and Y'vair had a laceration on her back, and Nalia's group suffered similar wounds, but there were no casualties. Careful rationing of potions had served its purpose – no one was too seriously injured.

"I _hate _things that regenerate," Y'vair grumbled. "It's lucky these things are rather stupid. At least two of them managed to inflict wounds on their…companions with the way they fight."

"Charging in and flailing around and biting." Yoshimo rubbed his eyes after checking his torch. "And we also have to fight in dim light. At least they try not to go too close to the torches."

Y'vair looked John up and down pointedly. "Sparrow…you're still unharmed, and I saw you going close enough to torch some of them." Burning trolls were maddened trolls that attacked the closest thing in the vicinity, even each other, which was obviously very helpful. Besides, John found it amusing. He'd been finding a lot of things amusing lately. Must have been the backlash from the depressing, rain-soaked march from Athkatla. 

John smiled inscrutably. "Magic." Actually, he wasn't quite sure himself – if it _was _synchronicity, it was working better than ever today than it had ever had when he was on his world. Trolls were either intercepted or missed – once, gambling, he put himself in the direct way of one, and the troll's swipe, which couldn't possibly have missed, did so. The magic didn't seem to help the others, however. There would be time later to try and figure this out…and the price of it. Magic always had a price, even if you weren't aware that you had paid.

"When would it wear off?" Hendak asked curiously.

"I have no idea," John replied. Magic had never been famous for consistency – an unpleasant thought: if it wore off while he was in close contact with a troll, he wouldn't be in a very…favorable position. Bugger that for a lark. 

The cat padded back nonchalantly into sight, and nodded its large head stiffly at them. 

"Well?" Nalia asked of it. It shot her a long, measured stare that expressed unspoken low opinions that the panther held of Nalia's intelligence.

"Three of them again? These things seem to come in threes. Sometimes I wish they could try for _some_ variety." Yoshimo set his torch into a bracket in the cold wall for a moment to massage his arm. It was clumsy at each fight to have to find a bracket to put the torch then draw the bow, so he simply gave the torch to John most of the time, who didn't have one – not enough fuel, which they carried carefully in their packs. A dagger and torch were surprisingly good – get up close enough to rip up the abdomen, then set fire to the thing as it ran around shrieking.

"I'm sure your criticism would cut the trolls deep, Yoshimo," John nudged one corpse with his toe. "They'd be absolutely _burning_ with regret."

Yoshimo chuckled, the sound out of place in the grim utilitarian walls of the fortress.

The panther sniffed at John, implying that it was completely unimpressed with his sense of humor, then suddenly turned without a sound, growling a warning. One of the trolls had followed, apparently – roaring, it charged at them with its shambling gait, ignoring the fact that it was outnumbered. It was feathered with arrows quickly enough, and collapsed, clawing at the ground, snarling its frustration and pain. Hendak set fire to it.

The panther yawned and watched the thing convulse for a moment, then padded off back where it came, tail curling and uncurling at the end to indicate boredom.

"Should we follow?" Nalia asked, smoothly notching another arrow.

"No…I think it wanted us to…ah." The panther bounded back to them effortlessly, at its back two more snarling trolls. John hit one in the eye with his slingshot, and as it staggered, hit it lower down where it would presumably hurt more. It doubled over with a roar, low enough for one of Hendak's men to behead it with an axe. The other troll flailed at the man, the claws raking deep furrows into his plate armor and smashing him into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him with a loud crash of metal against stone. But panther sank its teeth into the ankle of the troll and swung its considerable weight behind it, causing the thing to fall with an ear-splitting screech, where the other men promptly cut it up and set fire to the corpses.

"Interesting. Didn't think they would be sensitive there…ah hell, what _was_ I thinking? Of course they would be." Y'vair chuckled, as they carefully advanced after ascertaining that the man in plate armor was all right. They made no effort at being stealthy – the trolls had good hearing, and in the empty fortress footsteps and the sounds of armor echoed quite a bit. "Dirty fighting."

"You've never done it that way before?" Yoshimo looked astonished.

"Of course I have…just not with monsters. Odd." Y'vair chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Some part of me doesn't seem to register that monsters have genitals."

John was about to make a remark on that, but Nalia stopped short at a wall, while the corridor stretched forward before them into the darkness. "Here." She pressed one of the bricks, and with a click and a smooth hiss, the portion of the wall slid back, then to the side, to reveal a winding stairway.

John irrationally wished he had a video camera. If he jerked it around a little, dropped it at times, and pointed it at the wall a few times, he _might_ be able to sell the film to whoever produced the Blair Witch Project. His immediate surroundings were stereotypical enough.

"Just need some bloody screaming, and it'd be ready to sell," he muttered, then blithely ignored Y'vair's inquiring backward glance.

**

They fought their way slowly to the drawbridge, and soon became accustomed to the stink of burning troll and the smell of the evidences of troll living. Trolls were unafraid of death, and the butchering of their comrades didn't faze them – they simply just climbed over the dead bodies, stepped on the severed limbs, anything to get at living meat. One of Hendak's men got his head ripped off, the troll biting into still-warm flesh even as the others, gagging, cut it down. There was no time for grief and no time for fear – an attempt to scatter and run would only meet with clawed disaster – one man had lost his nerve and tried, and had run immediately into a group of giant lizards that had emerged from the normal stairway. He'd screamed loudly when impaled on a large falchion as long as a conventional broadsword.

The lizards – yuan-ti 'abominations', by Y'vair's casual identification – were _huge _snakes, towering above them, forked tongues flicking out to taste the air. There had been three of them – two wielding large, well-made falchions, and the last wearing some sort of elaborately tailored blue robe with designs of intertwined snakes. They moved with a snake's deliberate grace, and bright, slitted reptilian eyes spoke of great intelligence. The falchions glinted in the greasy torchlight, wielded with surprising professionalism.

At least the poor man had served to draw out their ambush. The robed one immediately wove spells of protection – its skin turned bark-like and glowed, and a brilliant mirror-like circle flashed into existence below it. Busy as it was, it didn't notice the panther's pounce – large jaws closed and dug into the scaly skin, clamping onto the large spine. Unbelievably the thing was alike – gurgling incoherently, it wrapped its sinuous body around the panther, and began to squeeze.

Hendak was there immediately, swinging his broadsword; he chopped at the yuan-ti, trying to make it let go. Its comrades slithered over, falchions raised, and John managed to hit one on the hand hard enough for it to drop its weapon. Yoshimo cut a nasty gash into the thing, and it lunged, mouth gaping unbelievably open like a snake's, long fangs extended, but Yoshimo somehow managed to duck and roll, swearing loudly in his native tongue as he scraped the wound on his arm on the ground. It recovered and turned to face him, hissing, but was overrun by Hendak's men. The last yuan-ti attempted to cut off Yoshimo's head, the falchion hissing in, a crescent of deadly silver, but the thief bravely blocked the crushing stroke with his katana, driven to his knees by the force of the blow. At this point Y'vair stuck her sword through its neck and twisted grimly.

"Ow." Yoshimo rubbed his knees, sitting down to catch his breath. "Snakes. I _hate _snakes."

"I don't know what they're doing here," Y'vair frowned at the dead bodies. "They're reputedly intelligent, and normally live in their own communities around a temple to their god Merrshaulk. So I have no idea why they'd be aiding trolls far from any sight of a temple. Your servant Daleson didn't say anything about them," she told Nalia, who had approached.

"I'd hardly have expected him to explore the castle," Nalia replied distantly. "The fact that he warned us about the trolls and the umber hulks upstairs is enough, isn't it?"

"That's another thing I'd been meaning to ask," Y'vair countered. "Umber hulks. Upstairs. Plural. Dangerous creatures with confusion spells and tremorsense. We'd never be able to sneak up on them. Even if we lock them in their feeding area somehow with bait, they'd be able to knock down the doors and walls easily."

"That dangerous?" Yoshimo clambered to his feet. 

"You have no idea," Y'vair shuddered. "Met one once on my travels – ran away before it decided to give chase. And, if we do manage to keep them in, sooner or later you still have to get rid of them."

"So what do you suggest?" Nalia asked, looking peeved at the fact that they were not going to blindly follow her in her misguided attempt to charge and try to obliterate a superior force by brute strength. "We can't just leave them…"

"They'd be able to smash through armor with ease. I'd think we should collapse the stairways to that level." Y'vair said coolly. "They'd probably make a lot of noise if they try to tunnel out. Enough warning for us, and we can surprise them when they emerge."

"What if they just dig through the ground?" John walked up to them, lighting a cigarette. He needed to steady his nerves – the prospect of losing the panther had affected him emotionally more than he'd have liked it to – as it were, he kept glancing down to check that it was still there. It had taken this incident, somehow, for him to openly admit that it was one of the better friends he had, not that it was difficult – what was difficult was that he now seemed to value it more than he had valued Kit…odd. Maybe he hit his head too hard in Irenicus' dungeon.

"They could do that," Y'vair conceded. "Gah. I really _don't_ want to fight them. I mean it. But if we do have to…just don't look at the eyes. They'd cause you to lose your senses, and I don't have a lot of dispel magic spells stored up."

"Neither do I," Nalia admitted. "I'd tell the rest to be careful."

Eventually they reached the door to the battlements, a path that led to the winch directly above the large drawbridge. They were a fair way above the enclosed courtyard, liberally strewn with rubble, but oddly cleared of corpses – from Nalia's description of how the trolls had taken over the fortress; John rather expected somewhat more carnage. Like the rest of the fortress, the battlements and courtyard were unadorned and sternly plain, without flags, fountains, or such ornamentation that normal fortresses were so fond of sporting. Outside, the sun had climbed somewhat past its apex, but the light and warmth was welcomed by all. John breathed in the fresh air gratefully – then immediately began to sneeze. That cat let out a growl of protest. There was an all-too-familiar stink of garbage mixed with some sort of vegetation, and the lack of corpses was immediately explained.

"Otyugh." He identified, grinding out his cigarette. The others warily glanced around down at the courtyard – sure enough, there was a pile of refuse stacked to a side, and it moved, the stench growing stronger as it did so. What had looked like a misshapen heap of rags sprouted sinuous, thick toothed tentacles as well as a huge mouth, and an Otyugh lurched forward on its three stumpy feet, growling, the tentacles seemingly probing at the air. It reached the steps up to the battlements where they were, then roared its frustration – the steps were too narrow for its bulk for it to be able to ascend. 

Dropping rocks that were lying around on the battlements proved to be some entertainment for a moment, as did the group of trolls that emerged from one of the doors below them, splintering it open. The trolls saw them immediately, and tried to shoulder past the otyugh to get to the stairs, but a few more well placed rocks maddened the thing, and it tore viciously at the closest troll. Soon there was an extremely enjoyable riot taking place below them. The trolls tore apart the otyugh, but not before it chewed up two of them and maimed the third. The last troll proved that rocks were a universally workable weapon, and they dropped torches onto the corpses before moving on.

At least the winch worked. The drawbridge lowered ponderously with squeals of metal, and the waiting members of the guard charged in with battlecries. More trolls emerged from doors to meet the invaders, and a spirited battle ensued. 

"Come on, let's go find the family," Nalia said cheerfully. "The soldiers and the mercenaries that Captain Darien hired should be enough to clean up the rooms."

"Why can't we let _them_ find your family?" John suggested, as the panther sat down on its haunches next to him. "Don't think we're needed any longer."

"You know, that's a good idea!" Nalia smiled brightly, a rather vapid smile. "This way, we can go upstairs while they take care of these two floors."

"There are umber hulks upstairs, you stupid girl!" Y'vair's voice rose effortlessly into the higher ranges as her eyes flashed. "Are you _insane_? Those soldiers are rested, _we_ are not. Let them take the top floor! We can handle the second floor, if you have a burning need to exterminate all the trolls…"

"This is _my_ home, and I grew up in it! Of course I want them all dead!" Nalia refused to back down. "But they don't _have_ magic, and…"

"You'd think that'd give us a better chance? We're both not Elminster!"

"There's still a better chance! And you heard Daleson…the chief troll is on the third floor as well! If we can get rid of it, the problem will be solved once and for all."

"All the more why we shouldn't go up there when we're wounded and tired! I don't want to meet a chief troll!"

"Don't you have a sense of adventure?"

"Not when it's going to get us all killed!"

The two glared at each other. If looks could kill, they'd both be convulsing on the ground by now. As it were, the men all gave each other nervous, wary glances, then as a body, carefully backed away from Nalia and Y'vair. Since the beginning, men knew not to interfere when a woman got really angry. Hell hath no fury, and all that.

John realized that Yoshimo, Hendak and the others were looking at him. He rolled his eyes, wishing that people would stop looking at him for decisions, then cleared his throat pointedly. "Right. Y'vair, give the girl some bit, okay? Nalia, do you have a plan?"

Nalia folded her arms proudly, completely missing the veiled insult that referred to her as a horse. "As a matter of fact, I do. If it's the gaze of the…umber hulks that is the problem, I have a solution. Would any of you happen to know the spell 'stinking cloud', or any of its variants?"

"I don't think it'd would make much of a difference," Y'vair said ungraciously, but she did calm down enough to consider Nalia's plan in a better light, "And I'm not good enough to use the higher level versions…unless you have cloudkill scrolls."

Nalia frowned. "No…an oversight, perhaps, but I had not known about the umber hulks here. I could send people back to Athkatla to buy some, but the delay might be…" She glanced at John curiously. "Unless your magic would work again."

"It's unreliable," John leaned against the battlements precariously, such that the panther growled until he stopped. It never passed up on a chance to mother him. "Could try."

"Right. We'd go with you," Y'vair said grimly. Before Nalia could frame a reply, she added, "Hendak's men would be better employed here. Give us the money, and we'd go back to Athkatla and return with the scrolls. You'd have to sponsor us, though – our finances are sort of drained at this moment."

"That won't be a problem," Nalia said doubtfully, her tone belying her skepticism at the plan of allowing the three of them to leave. 

"We won't be running away," Yoshimo assured her, "We need to see this wizard friend of yours, remember?"

"By the way, if this friend turns out not to exist," John said casually, fingering the pouch where he kept the slingshot, "You may find that this little troll infestation was only a walk in the park compared to what we _will _do."

"You dare question my word?" Nalia stiffened, flushing angrily.

John deliberately turned away from her to look over the battlements. Below, the fight had more or less been concluded, and had spread indoors. A small number of guards and mercenaries alike were unmoving on the ground, mingling with the burning bodies of the trolls. "Until later, I'm withholding judgement on that."

"You are a cold man, John Constantine."

"It's a cold world." _Bint._

**

Once they strolled out of the fortress, Y'vair breathed a sigh of relief. "Gods. One moment longer and I might have strangled that girl."

"Only one moment? I'd have beaten you to it, then," Yoshimo grinned. "She makes my hands itch."

"Homicidal barbarians," John accused them with mock distaste. The panther made a sound whose equivalent in the human tongue was cynical laughter.

"It's very therapeutic, sparrow." Y'vair retorted. "Now. Is your magic going to start in the immediate future, or…"

"Just keep walking, luv." John said lackadaisically, knowing that it rather irritated Y'vair, "We'd find out sooner or later."

"It doesn't work when you call it to?" Y'vair asked curiously. "How strange."

"It works all the time, or not at all, or when I really want something done," 

"Can you stop being mysterious for just five minutes?"

"What would you do in return, then?" John pretended to consider it, resting his fist against his cheek in the classic 'Thinker' pose. 

Y'vair swore at him in some language that sounded suspiciously non-human.

"Hush," Yoshimo said quietly. "There's someone ahead." 

"I can only see trees," Y'vair said sulkily. "And we're still close to the fortress, so I doubt there'd be that much disturbance still."

"What fortress?" John asked innocently, hiding his own surprise – he had looked behind them a second ago. The ugly fortress had disappeared, replaced by unfamiliar trees, which meant that magic had managed to pick them up and deposit them halfway on the route to Athkatla. He couldn't see the city walls yet, so they probably just ended up somewhere that he was supposed to go to. It did that on occasion.

Y'vair turned around, then muttered darkly to herself. "Wild magic."

"There's no such thing as wild magic any longer, luv." John said automatically, then amended, "Probably."

"Not on this world. Your magic is unconstrained by spells. Wild magic."

"Can you two discuss this later?" Yoshimo said in a strained voice. "I hear fighting, and we have to decide whether to sneak around them or to go look."

They edged closer to a conveniently lush clump of bushes, the panther padding carefully near a break in the underbrush that would allow it to charge and attack if need be.

Some distance ahead, someone was fighting six drow elves. Or rather, he had killed four drow elves, with two left. The others were mangled corpses on the ground.

The person appeared to be human, taller than average height, but not by enough to be conspicuous, skin bronzed by the sun, gracefully muscled like a dancer, not grossly so like a bodybuilder. His long hair, tied into a ponytail was so dark as to be black, touched here and there with a few silvering strands, with occasional highlights of deep blue. He could be called handsome, if he smiled, but currently his expression was twisted into one of a towering, intense rage, mouth open, teeth bared in a soundless snarl as he vented his anger on the dark elven warriors. 

They watched with something approaching awe as he engaged both drow warriors with brutal, murderous skill, not killing but maiming with his short sword and heavy jeweled dagger, a deadly windstorm of flashing metal, slashing, stabbing, slicing. Rolling smoothly to avoid a slash from the one wielding two swords, he recovered and scythed out the legs from under the warrior with one fluid move. As the drow fell, he darted behind and stabbed him in the back with the dagger, efficiently, just enough to kill, then kicked the body off and deflected the lance of the second warrior with his sword.

The second warrior shouted something in the drow tongue, which managed to be both musical and harsh at the same time, and suddenly a large globe of darkness covered both fighters. The sounds of fighting resumed in an eyeblink's worth of time, then the most appalling snarl could be heard, inhuman, wildly vicious, and lupine – and also very familiar. They exchanged glances, and Y'vair mouthed the word 'werewolf', which rather explained the man's savage speed and grace.

There was a wet crunching sound, and the globe of darkness abruptly dissipated, to reveal the drow warrior flat on the ground, head nearly severed from the still-twitching body by a single bite, and the human fighter, who was using the drow's cloak to wipe off his weapons.

He turned sharply to look in their direction, and they noticed his eyes were the startling amber of a wolf's, still burning in the intensity of some barely-controlled fury. He wore well-made, black leather armor, undecorated by any of the customary designs, an unremarkable soft leather belt with pouches and a dagger scabbard attached, a plain, travel-worn sword scabbard, utilitarian, dusty brown trousers, leggings, bracers and boots. His dark red-brown travelling cloak, resembling the color of drying blood, was, like the rest of his attire, common. If not for the eyes and the leather collar adorned with a silver coin around his neck, he could probably pass unnoticed through any city that had a fair share of 'adventurers'.

He growled at them, a wolfish sound, then seemed to shake himself, hands tightening on his weapons. "Come out. I can smell you." His voice was a light, pleasant baritone that didn't match the rest of him.

Y'vair and Yoshimo looked as one to John. He sighed inwardly, then stepped out of the bushes, cautiously followed by the others. "I'm sure the ambience of the forest is tediously regular, but decorating trees with disemboweled corpses may be going a little too far."

He stared at John, features contorting for a moment as his lip twitched upward to reveal long canines that hadn't been there a moment ago, then visibly tried to calm himself when the panther bared its own teeth in a warning. "No one's complained yet. You are John Constantine?"

"It's one of the names I've been called."

"Good. Some time ago you escaped from a dungeon under Athkatla with a werewolf called K'yanae." It wasn't a question, but the man waited expectantly. When none of them showed any reaction, he continued. "Recently you have been making…inquiries, and you plan to set up communication to K'yanae's father in Baldur's Gate. I will go with you." 

"You're werewolf, but how would we know your relationship to K'yanae?" Y'vair said bluntly. "You could wish her ill for all we know."

"My relationship with her is personal," the man said stiffly, "But I am a friend."

"Artemis Entreri!" Yoshimo said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "You're _Artemis Entreri_…that dagger, your skill…Y'vair, believe him. He's working for K'yanae down in Calimport. Her private…assassin."

"I knew that," Y'vair looked annoyed with herself. "Damn. My brain's probably asleep today..." 

"What?" John asked, glancing at the man, who watched them dispassionately. "Who?"

"You're looking at the finest assassin in Calimport, which is known for its hired killers," Yoshimo said, expression apprehensive, "He's rather…well known." The thief's eyes pleaded with John not to ask any more questions.

"How'd you know the dark elves were looking for me?" John asked curiously.

"They were creeping up to your camp in the night," Entreri nudged at the metal band on the head of the nearest drow corpse with his foot. All the corpses wore bands. "The band allowed them to walk in the sunlight, as well. I need you alive to be able to contact Zaknafein Do'Urden – to travel through the Sword Coast to Baldur's Gate or Calimport would take far too long, and Black Talons have no contacts in this part of the Sword Coast. Shadow thieves." He explained curtly. "I will help you until then, since you seem so capable of getting into trouble – slave traders, dark elves, red dragons, trolls…"

"Red dragons?" Y'vair blinked.

"That Jierdan Firkaag John Constantine spoke to in the Copper Coronet has a true shape which is somewhat larger, scaly, and breathes fire." John privately and irrationally wondered if Entreri's laconic speech was a recent affectation considering he was in unfamiliar company, or if it was a long-standing habit.

"I knew there was something wrong with him," Y'vair muttered, looking irked.

"What can disturb a red dragon enough for him to require outside aid?" Yoshimo mused aloud. "Constantine, _please _tell me you don't intend to find out."

"I'd try to restrain my curiosity."

"Enough of this," Entreri said in a voice as cold as the northern winds. "We are not helping K'yanae in any way by this. Why do you return to Athkatla?"

"You don't know? Weren't you spying on us?" John feigned surprise. "Sniffing around our campsite, lurking in the shadows…"

"Amazing, sparrow," Y'vair murmured, "I'm _so_ bewildered. How _do _you manage to make so many enemies with that tongue of yours?"

"It's a gift, luv."

Entreri glared at John, unconsciously growling deep in his throat. The panther purposefully moved in front of John.

"We return to purchase some scrolls," Yoshimo said quickly, before Entreri decided to delete them, "To fight umber hulks."

"The distance from here to the fortress is long, and it has only been two days. How could you have reached the fortress and returned? Magic?"

John nodded carelessly. "Can't you?"

"Be nice, sparrow," Y'vair poked him in the back. "I must apologize for John's behavior," she told Entreri with a perfectly straight face, "He's not from this world, and we haven't managed to civilize him _just_ yet."

Entreri actually smiled, thinly, a fleeting ghost of an expression, but it showed that the man at least had _some_ humanity. John felt profoundly grateful for Y'vair's disarming presence.

**

Synchronicity deposited them a mile away from the city gates, and they walked the rest of it, talking at Entreri. The panther ignored the assassin, and showed its displeasure by grumbling quietly to itself. John didn't think the conversation qualified as 'talking to' the assassin – Entreri answered brusquely, his manner guarded, and sometimes he didn't answer at all, but pretended he hadn't heard the questions. From what they gleaned, he had been travelling with K'yanae somewhere to check out the recent turmoil of thief guilds in Athkatla, and Irenicus showed up. After that Entreri couldn't remember anything, except for waking up with a splitting headache in a ditch, with K'yanae and Irenicus gone, leaving only her collar and no signs of a fight except for burned rings in the ground and the stench of magic. They'd apparently been in the middle of nowhere, so he couldn't contact anyone he knew, so he went to Athkatla, the closest place, to try and find out about Irenicus. It turned out that Irenicus was not listed under the huge records of magic users that the Cowled Wizards kept in the Government building, so there was no way of finding out if Irenicus had kidnapped K'yanae for her good or for ill. After wandering around for a week or so, and receiving no contact from either the Black Talons or the Baldur's Gate thieves, he was just about going to give up hope and go to Baldur's Gate, when he overheard some city guards discussing the fight in the quarry at Waukeen's Promenade. A bit of espionage had led him to the party, and he had followed them. So far they didn't seem _too_ incompetent.

"Incompetent?" Y'vair objected. "Sparrow, are you just going to stand there and let him insult us?"

"He can fight better than all of us combined," John said pragmatically. "If you really want to, go try stab him in the back. We'd give what's left of you a nice funeral. Do you want white flowers or black ones?"

"Sparrow!"

John laughed at her mortified expression, and winked at the assassin. The smile flashed onto Entreri's features again – it didn't look natural on the man's face. John had gotten a somewhat hurried background of their new travelling companion from Yoshimo, and he made several mental notes never to _really_ offend Entreri. There were some people who could be classed as 'natural walking disasters', and John was convinced that if Entreri really wanted to, he could probably depopulate several towns easily.

Entreri had worn a carefully neutral expression when speaking of the past, but John had a strong hunch as to the exact nature of his relationship with K'yanae. He considered trying to arrange for Entreri to 'take care' of Irenicus. Entreri was one of the most tightly controlled, harshly determined, strong-willed, dangerous being that John had met, so far, and when he got too close he occasionally got irrational urges to check for wiring, or shiny steel gears, anything to indicate Entreri wasn't, disturbingly, a living creature. There was something absolutely _inhuman_ about his attitude. He seemed to be able to change his 'aura' whenever he liked – sometimes he seemed to dominate the area, but most of the time, he was so quietly, dangerously unobtrusive that John had to check for him. The assassin's punishments would no doubt be worse than anything _he_ could think of personally, and he had seen Hell itself, or an aspect of it. Irenicus would take a very, very long time to die, if Entreri had anything to do with it.

The prospect was thoroughly attractive.

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Kit: Constantine's ex-girlfriend, Irish, pretty, intelligent, strong-willed. It's complicated – go read Hellblazer yourself. Can only tell you that losing her was a great blow to Constantine.

__

Entreri: Entreri works for K'yanae, after a very long and convoluted incident in 'Journeys'. As to his relationship with her, just go read 'A Tale of Winter's Tide', if you're really curious. I hadn't intended to bring him in this early in the story, but it would have to do.


	9. Wish us luck

Chapter 7  
  
Wish us luck  
  
The ambush, John critically noted, would technically have been well carried out. It was certainly planned - the hobgoblin archers rose neatly out of their hiding places in the bushes, bows at the ready, and from both sides he could hear soft sounds that hinted at the presence of other enemies. They were surrounded, and it seemed that the burly humanoids that towered over a human's normal height had them cornered neatly. The things had, however, never heard about Entreri, who immediately started for them in an arrow-quick, ground eating run. Startled, the archers loosed their shots at him, and were even more astonished when the assassin abruptly dropped into a huge black wolf that, without changing its speed, closed on them, leaped, and tore out one of their throats. The arrows clattered harmlessly onto the grass like some odd toy.  
  
The other hobgoblins froze in shock for a moment, then the largest one of them snarled something, and they started again. At least, those at their flanks did. The archers were rather preoccupied.  
  
The panther had taken advantage of the mild confusion to slip away. To the right, sudden shouts and curses announced its presence, but those on the left charged out of cover, four of them, shouting battle cries and wielding swords. One lurched back with a gurgle, Yoshimo's arrow sticking out of its throat. Y'vair cast a spell, and fire leaped from her fingers in a fan of orange, engulfing the closest one, who immediately understood one reason why wearing metal armor wasn't a good idea in a fight with a mage. With a yelp, it dropped its sword and rolled, trying to beat out the flames, but Y'vair grimly kept the searing heat on it, its fur blackening, the stench of burnt flesh filling the air, until it stopped, twitching weakly.  
  
John used his slingshot at one, but the stone glanced off the helmet. The hobgoblin glared at him through its little eyes, and started menacingly in his direction, but Yoshimo lunged and thrust with his katana. The hobgoblin parried with an oath, and the swords met in a clash of steel. Stupidly, the creature attempted to rely on its superior strength and forced the swords back towards Yoshimo, but the thief prudently slipped to the side and feinted at its ribs. It parried instinctively, or tried to, but the katana had already flicked away, enough of it piercing through the monster's eye into its brain.  
  
Yoshimo danced back and nearly got his head cleaved into two by the last hobgoblin, if Y'vair hadn't kicked it in the back of the knee. As it fell to the ground in a clatter of metal, one of John's seldom-used daggers whistled between its eyes. He grimaced as he went forward to yank out his weapon - one of the reasons why he didn't particularly like using daggers. At least slingshots could be found anywhere, or at the very least, were cheap in markets.  
  
There was a sound to their right and they turned sharply to see Entreri emerging nonchalantly with the panther by his side, carefully wiping his short sword. The assassin regarded his blood-spattered leather armor with irritation, then proceeded to wipe with as well, muttering to himself about the stink of hobgoblin blood.  
  
"Eight and five.twelve hobgoblins is too large for a mere bandit party," Yoshimo counted the dead as Y'vair pilfered the bodies.  
  
"This may explain it," Entreri held out a coin bag. The coins were gold ones - quite a few of them. "Not bandits but mercenaries."  
  
"All right, sparrow," Y'vair returned, grinning mischievously. "Just who did you offend when we weren't looking?"  
  
"It's not my fault, luv," John said mildly, then he affected a theatrical waver. "I think."  
  
"I'm so glad for you, sparrow," Y'vair murmured. Not before long, the snide comments and petty insults were traded back and forth again in cheerful earnest.  
  
"Are they always like this?" Entreri asked Yoshimo, no trace of amusement on his face.  
  
"You have no idea," Yoshimo replied, with mock resignation. "They both think they're very clever, of course."  
  
"Yoshimo!" Y'vair objected.  
  
"I don't know how you can stand him," Yoshimo confided out loud to the panther.  
  
"Go on and say it," John folded his arms and fixed it with a stare. It cocked its head at him, green eyes widening as if in childish bewilderment at John's belligerence, then it diplomatically ignored all of them and began to wash itself.  
  
"Was your magic failing, John Constantine?" Yoshimo asked curiously. "We are at least a mile from the city.at least, I cannot see it any longer."  
  
"That's because it's working," Y'vair said dryly, "We've only been walking for ten minutes, twenty at the most away from the city. With the flat land around Athkatla, we should still be able to see it, or most of the sea. I'm quite interested to know why we stopped so suddenly though. Hobgoblins are hardly the most charming of creatures to have in one's social circles, sparrow."  
  
"Maybe we were supposed to meet them, luv." John shrugged, lighting a cigarette.  
  
"The fight was quite invigorating, I'm sure, but why were we supposed to meet them?" Yoshimo asked.  
  
"How am I supposed to know?" John pointed at the largest corpse. "Ask them."  
  
"They're dead, sparrow."  
  
"Really? I hadn't noticed that. My, my, what a surprise."  
  
"One day your tongue's going to get you into.ah, what am I saying, it already has."  
  
**  
  
They did manage to get back to the fortress without any further mishap, to Entreri's disappointment. John had a private suspicion that the assassin was accompanying them in part because of their marked penchant for getting into all sorts of trouble of the type that required lots of fighting to get out of. Perhaps out of some conscious or unconscious desire to slake his icy fury at K'yanae's kidnappers - though the terrible fire in his eyes did not wane, but instead seemed to burn a little stronger with each kill. Entreri could become a problem if they didn't find K'yanae soon.  
  
Nalia greeted them in the stockade, but the captain was missing - still in the fortress. They had closed all doors leading to the third level, and had withdrawn to the first. Apparently the umber hulks couldn't understand the concept of a door and thought it was part of the wall.  
  
"They haven't tried to bash down the stone yet?" Y'vair said incredulously.  
  
"Nope." Nalia said cheerfully. "I think the big troll Daleson mentioned is in charge, and it may believe that accidental smashing of stone would bring the entire thing down on their heads."  
  
"That's a lot of speculation," John noted.  
  
Nalia waved it off. "They're all forest monsters. They can't be expected to know things about human structures."  
  
John was going to say something appropriately snide about Nalia's narrow view about the part of the world that didn't include the nobility, but Y'vair reached out insouciantly and pinched him in through the sleeve of the back of his arm. "Quiet," she murmured.  
  
"That hurt," John said accusingly, as Nalia flitted off.  
  
Y'vair sniffed, but ignored the remark. "The soldiers are loyal to her now. An insult might be quite inappropriate."  
  
"She didn't even ask about.our friend," Yoshimo said, glancing at Entreri. The assassin looked up from where he had been gravely petting the panther.  
  
"She probably didn't even notice him, with her nose in the air." John muttered.  
  
"I do have a name," Entreri said dryly. His eyes did not even look at the other soldiers that were shooting them curious looks. "'Jasek' is easy enough that it shouldn't stick in your throat, thief."  
  
"I happen to be unable to remember Faerun names," Yoshimo bantered, understanding what Entreri was doing. "It's probably because they're all so ugly."  
  
"Ugly?" Y'vair demanded indignantly.  
  
"I can't believe why you people would give yourself names which have no meaning. What is the point of having a name then?"  
  
"What does 'Yoshimo' mean, then?" John asked before Y'vair could get carried away with her acting of lighthearted normality. It was rather practical - he had an inkling that Entreri was of some notoriety, and there might be trouble if it were casually revealed. The amber eyes could have been a problem, but the soldiers tended to stare at Y'vair instead. Horns, cat ears and a tufted tail seemed to draw attention like bait to a starving trout.  
  
"I can't tell you. Giving away the secret of the meaning of a name is." Yoshimo's face twisted a little as he groped for words. "Part of a.custom? Ceremony? There are no words to describe it properly," he ended lamely.  
  
They were saved from the embarrassing moment by Nalia, who called for them to follow her into the fortress with the cloudkill scrolls. Of the guards, four were following, including the quiet Captain. Hendak's men were tired and quite a few suffered injuries - as like the mercenaries and the other guards - they had run into a spot of trouble in some of the rooms on the second floor. So only four guards, Hendak, Nalia, Y'vair, Yoshimo, John, the panther and Entreri were to face the umber hulks - and whatever was beyond them.  
  
**  
  
Cloth soaked with some sort of strongly fragrant potion had been passed around for them to wrap around their noses and mouths - only Entreri declined it politely, saying he was allergic to it. Being a werewolf, it was quite possible that it would give him a headache - as it was he tried to stand as far away from the group as possible while yet being able to aid in attacking if need be.  
  
The second level was abnormally quiet, and they reached one of the closed doors to a staircase without mishap, passing some nervous soldiers on guard at intervals.  
  
"There's no need for all of us to cram up there," Nalia said in a barely audible whisper. "And it'd be difficult for us to exit properly, so all eight of you back off down the passage when we reach the top door of the staircase."  
  
"If you see orange clouds floating your way, run," Y'vair continued, "For those who haven't seen this spell before, the fumes are highly poisonous, and it's quite possible for you to die if you inhale them. They'd also irritate your skin and eyes - just about any exposed part of your body. Hopefully the umber hulks don't like it," she grinned.  
  
"Looks like they're in for a wonderful morning," John agreed. Y'vair grinned at him.  
  
"Actually there's no need for all the whispering," Y'vair told Nalia, still in a murmur, "The umber hulks already know we're coming. Tremorsense, remember?"  
  
"But they don't know what we're going to do," Nalia pointed out. "Come on. Wish us luck."  
  
"Wait," John paused, his voice, like the rest, muffled by the cloth. "Cat, go with them."  
  
"It can't cast any spells, sparrow." Y'vair pointed out.  
  
"It can tell you where the umber hulks are by smelling them, luv," John said. "It'd growl if they're behind a door."  
  
"And we'd better remove these as well," Nalia took off the scented cloth she was wearing. "I wouldn't want to mispronounce anything. We'd have to hold them on after the spell and run. The scent should be strong enough to drown up the worst of the cloudkill if it catches up with us."  
  
"I will go up with you," Hendak said. "It may be better if the two of you began casting before the door was opened. When you reach the climax I will kick it in, you throw it into the room, we run."  
  
"You don't know when the climax is," Nalia said doubtfully. "And we have to be able to see the room the umber hulks are in to be able to cast a location point on the spell."  
  
"Won't the umber hulks have become a problem by then?" John pointed out.  
  
"Not really. This potion we inhaled gives you a clear mind for about half an hour," Y'vair said, "It's rather popular among the noble-born when they have to make momentous decisions and don't want anyone interfering with confusion spells, feeblemind and all those amusing spells."  
  
"Why doesn't anyone tell this to us beforehand?" Yoshimo grinned.  
  
"Then why don't we just attack the umber hulks?" one of the men asked, "If we need not fear from their gaze."  
  
"Young man," Y'vair said severely, "An umber hulk can smash through this wall here with ease. Imagine what it can do to your armor. Now, we're a bit short on time to stay here and chat."  
  
"If they're not behind the door at the top of the stair, they're probably in the room beyond it, and there's a grille in that door. It should suffice," Nalia was saying as she led Y'vair and the cat up the stairs. "If not.Hendak may have to help."  
  
There was a tense moment, but the panther did not growl, so they could be heard unlocking the door with a soft click.  
  
"Okay, we move now," John pointed down the corridor.  
  
"Should we not stay and at least make sure they are safe?" Hendak asked, wavering.  
  
"They've begun casting," Entreri said, even though John couldn't hear anything going on upstairs. "Do you really want to block up their escape route?"  
  
With that, the group nervously slunk down the corridor to wait.  
  
"What's happening now, Jasek?" Yoshimo asked Entreri.  
  
"He can hear it?" one of the guards looked surprised. The guards around that door had also been moved.  
  
"Due to a magical item I have," Entreri said smoothly. The men were already ambiguous about the party due to the presence of Y'vair - that balance might be shifted if they learned there was a werewolf in their midst as well. "It helps when your occupation is relieving rich men of the burdens of coin. Knowing where your pursuers are going if you've made a mistake is invaluable."  
  
There was a quiet chuckle from the men, though they shot Entreri and Yoshimo mildly apprehensive looks.  
  
"The spells have been released." Entreri commented thoughtfully. "They're running."  
  
Moments later the clattering of footsteps could be heard on stairs, and a door slamming. Y'vair, Nalia and the cat burst into view from the lower door, and they slammed it shut as well before running towards them.  
  
"They were in the second room," Nalia reported, "So the spell shouldn't reach this point, but we must be careful."  
  
"How long will it last?" Yoshimo asked.  
  
"We'd give it half an hour to clear, then we go back up," Nalia said.  
  
**  
  
They carefully advanced up the staircase after the half an hour, and John glanced at Entreri.  
  
"None behind this door, and the smoke has cleared." His hands casually tightened around the jeweled dagger and his short sword.  
  
Nalia opened the door, and Entreri darted in, eyes flickering rapidly around the room, followed by the rest. This room looked like an armory, and there was a door with a grille in it directly facing them.  
  
"That's the one," Nalia pointed.  
  
"Arrows will just bounce off them unless you can hit them in the eye," Y'vair warned. "Knives as well."  
  
Entreri glanced quickly through the grille. "Smoke's clear. Three curled on the ground, one staggering in a circle, two at the far end standing but motionless."  
  
"That can mean anything," Y'vair sighed. They're intelligent enough to play dead until we get close enough. "Remember, don't look in their eyes if you can help it. The potion may not be strong enough."  
  
Entreri twisted the doorknob, then kicked it open, and the fight started.  
  
It turned out that those curled on the ground were dying, and doing a good job of it - but the guards paused in the charge to stick swords into the large compound eyes, one of the only ways to make sure the thing was dead.  
  
Umber hulks were hideously massive, and looked like escapees from some genetic engineering experiment gone wrong. Their low, rounded heads resembled that of a fly's, with two enormous compound eyes and two smaller, glittering ones above them. Feelers waved at the attackers frantically as they lurched forward and the almost laughably petite inner mandibles clacked together in rhythm with the rows of teeth. The much larger, gracefully curving set of mandibles flanking the small set was nothing to laugh about, though - they were obviously deadly, the grasping edge lined with sharp protrusions.  
  
The exoskeletons were a mottled green, and the long, drooping arms were plated on the heavily from the arm joint to the curving claws, such that they resembled huge clubs with claws on the end. Somehow it managed to balance on its relatively fragile-looking, but also armored back legs.  
  
Two of them chattered to each other in their own tongue as they rushed to intercept the people, while the last one, still staggering around, ignored them. The smoke seemed to have made it delirious. The attacking two, other than the inflamed state of their compound eyes and a rather unsteady gait, looked as though they had somewhat recovered from the spell - a open door to the right that led to a snaking corridor showed that they had perhaps escaped the worst of it by going through there, and coming back when the smoke had dissipated.  
  
The first umber hulk lived up to the notoriety of its species. It swung one of its arms at a guard, and the man made a mistake by trying to block with his shield. The crushing blow smashed into the shield and John could hear the sickening sound of bone splintering. Stunned, the man staggered, and the umber hulk deftly stabbed the razor-sharp tips of the two curving mandibles deep into the guard's neck and ripped them free. With an angry groan, the Captain and the other two guards attacked it, warily this time, but it bashed one of them away with a nearly contemptuous swing, and the mandibles bit right through the armor of another. Yoshimo's arrow sang into its eye, and the thief loosed another into the second.  
  
Maddened, it shrieked harshly and charged at the thief, ignoring the Captain, who swung his broadsword and lopped off its leg as it passed. It toppled with a crash, flailing its arms, and Hendak, muscles rippling with effort, managed to chop off the thing's head. The arms twitched convulsively even as the thing died.  
  
Entreri had engaged the last one with the panther; the two of them always staying out of the thing's deadly reach. Nalia and Yoshimo stopped attempting to shoot arrows at it, afraid that they would hit either the panther or the assassin, and Y'vair leaped forward to help. A glancing blow snapped her sword, and she discarded it quickly, leaping back with an oath, but the next blow connected and nearly knocked her across the room.  
  
John got into range and threw a dagger, missing as the thing twisted to try and pulverize the panther, and missed again when it turned on Entreri. It stiffened, the compound eyes seeming to change colors for a moment, but the assassin avoided its eyes, rolling away from the follow-up swipe. Then the panther leaped on its back with a snarl, somehow managing to stay on as it bucked and twisted. Around this point Entreri held his short sword in a double-handed grip, darted in, and stabbed through the underside of its head.  
  
The deranged umber hulk was giving Hendak and the soldiers some problems - it had decided to attack, and took no note of injuries - berserk, even with an arrow sheathed in its eye. The Captain was down, a large dent in his armor and probably suffering from a few broken ribs, but in the end Yoshimo managed to stick his katana deep into the thing's other eye, killing it.  
  
"Y'vair?" John helped her sit up. She gingerly fingered the side where she had been hit.  
  
"I broke something," she said calmly. "Like the captain and that guard. The other two can't be saved, I'm afraid."  
  
They took a tally of their injuries and were in the process of handing out potions when the ironbound door to the left, leading to the audience hall, Nalia had explained, smashed open.  
  
Two trolls charged out of it, with Entreri and the panther wordlessly engaged one, Yoshimo and Hendak trying to handle the other.  
  
"Bloody hell," John swore, fumbling with his sling. One hit and broke a troll's nose, distracting it for a moment, for Yoshimo to slice open its belly and Hendak to shove it towards the other troll. Driven berserk by the pain the troll bit the other one, and there were a few confused moments before both lay unmoving on the ground. Nalia released a spell that sent a small bolt of flame arching from her fingertips, enough to burn both corpses.  
  
Inside the darkened chamber, something roared its fury.  
  
"We can lure it to the door," Yoshimo suggested, frowning. "Whatever it is."  
  
The few healing potions they had left allowed Y'vair, the captain and the guard to recover enough such that they could at least stand up. Y'vair was pale, but she refused to leave, like the captain, but the last guard was still seeing two of everything and was advised to just go into the armory and sit down where it was safer.  
  
"Tlagar smells you!" the thing roared suddenly. "Come and fight! You kill Tlagar's children! Now Tlagar fight and kill you!"  
  
"Does this happen often here?" John asked dryly.  
  
"There are torches in there on the brackets in the wall.I think I'd try to light some." A few more bolts were loosed, and the lighted torches provided some light.  
  
The audience hall was lined with somber statues, no doubt of past ancestors. John had never really understood why people felt urges to cast sculptures of those long dead and decorate places with them. There was one more large statue at the end, towering over a stone throne, and a figure was slumped in it, with the subdued stillness of the dead.  
  
The one making all the noise was an extremely large troll. It towered over the already impressive normal ones, and John idly wondered how it had managed to enter the hall in the first place. Not by walking normally, that was for sure. Two more, 'normal' trolls flanked it, though the word was quite inappropriate in describing eight-foot-tall monsters.  
  
John sighed. The day was just about getting worse.  
  
**  
  
He woke up in a lumpy bed with a bad headache and a taste in his mouth, which meant that someone had forced potion down it. Squinting to get used to the light, he noticed Y'vair sitting down on a chair in the room busily splinting her arm.  
  
"Ah, you're awake, sparrow." Y'vair said unnecessarily. "You've slept long enough."  
  
"I need a drink," John leaned back onto his pillow. A weight on his toes notified him to the location of the panther.  
  
"Water, then."  
  
"I don't need a bath, luv."  
  
"Or milk," Y'vair carried on, as if she hadn't heard. "I think alcohol might interfere with the potion, and besides, I hate a drunkard's stench."  
  
John sighed, then remembered something. "What happened? I remember using my sling on one of them, then nothing else."  
  
"Your magic decided not to work, sparrow." Y'vair said dryly, "There had been one more troll in the corner that had been hiding. I didn't think they were smart enough to ambush, but it appears that I was wrong. It hit you on the head, and Yoshimo managed to stop it before it decided to continue killing you."  
  
"Ah. Where are the others?"  
  
"Entr.that is, Jasek, is nursing a broken arm - the large troll Tlagar he attacked somehow managed to grab him. Lucky move, technically, up to the point when Jasek sliced it open from neck to navel with his free hand."  
  
"That must have surprised it."  
  
"Considering the look on its face when Jasek was finished with him, I'd say it was, sparrow. The other trolls just seemed to fall into pieces after that. Unstable things. Yoshimo got cut above the eye, but he's recovering - your panther was enraged when you fell. The troll that attacked you probably regretted it."  
  
John chuckled. The panther purred loudly, the rumblings not unpleasant against his feet.  
  
"Nalia says that when you're ready to travel, we'd go see this family friend of hers," Y'vair concluded. "Incidentally, she's emotionally unsteady now. The dead man on the throne was her father."  
  
John shrugged uncaringly. "Hopefully the bint wouldn't fall apart before she keeps her word." He had a headache, and was inexplicably harboring a bizarre notion that a fight had just gone on inside his mind. He reflexively shook his head - perhaps a cigarette would cure it.  
  
**  
  
John did, however, take care not to say anything regarding families or fathers on the trip back. For some reason synchronicity decided to work again, and they were deposited a mile outside Athkatla.  
  
"Why don't you just use your magic to walk you to Baldur's Gate?" Nalia asked John. Her voice was somewhat subdued, ever since they had left the fortress, and she kept glancing at Hendak.  
  
"Because it's unreliable, and Baldur's Gate is a long way," John replied.  
  
"And it might think we should meet every single bandit on the way," Y'vair quipped, with a wink at John.  
  
The mage lived in an ordinary-looking house near Waukeen's Promenade. Paint peeled halfheartedly at portions of the wall, and the windows had heavy curtains over them. Nalia knocked on the unpainted door in a sharp staccato that seemed like some sort of code.  
  
Cautiously, the door opened, and a thin man of over average height, bald except for a sparse gray beard, quickly gestured them inside and shut the door after them.  
  
"Nalia my dear, how wonderful to see you!" the old mage smiled. "How is your father?"  
  
John winced.  
  
Nalia's eyes, predictably, filled with two great tears, and the rest of them felt rather uncomfortable as she told him what had happened, sobbing all the way. The old mage held her and uttered soothing noises until she stopped, and they spoke quietly for a moment. Then he turned back to them, opened his mouth, then stared at hooded Y'vair. Slowly he looked at the rest of the party, and even stared at the panther, which for some reason had decided to show itself.  
  
"Nalia, these are dangerous people," he said quietly. "You are those who emerged in Waukeen's Promenade, whose friend got netted by the Cowled Wizards?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Someone is trying to prevent all wizards with reaching power from helping you, I'd think. Those of my colleagues who openly set up business have disappeared without a trace, and those who even inquired, out of curiosity, about the group of you also disappeared. The rest have gone underground. I must admit I'm curious. Who are you trying to reach?"  
  
The group glanced at each other, and then John shrugged. "Baldur's Gate. We'd tell you exactly who if you say you'd help us. Your friend Nalia gave her word." She didn't exactly promise that he would help them, only that she'd bring them to him, but Nalia didn't seem to catch this - she was talking to Hendak in a corner, murmuring.  
  
"Trigger spells have been put up in this area," the mage said, "I haven't dared to use magic for a while. I have no idea how extensive the spells are - and my scrying tools are largely too noticeable to move comfortably. You will need to fetch me something for me to help you. It would also be your payment to me."  
  
"And what is this?" Yoshimo asked suspiciously.  
  
"It would help me cast spells without notifying other mages by hitting trigger spells or otherwise," the mage explained, "It's a pendant necklace called the Dark Sighing."  
  
John meditated on the rather idiotic names that most magical items seemed to have.  
  
"I've heard of it," Y'vair said. "It was lost quite a while ago."  
  
"How long ago?" Yoshimo looked even more suspicious.  
  
"A few centuries, I think."  
  
"Its location has been revealed to me," the mage reached to his bookcase and took out a tightly scrolled piece of parchment. "That is the map of the Windspear hills, and the dragon's cave is marked."  
  
"What!" Yoshimo exploded. "The dragon's cave? It's a red dragon!"  
  
"Quietly!" the mage shushed them. "There may be spies."  
  
"You're mad," Y'vair said; though her voice was controlled at the normal register. "We're not going to fight a red dragon, especially one who knows spells."  
  
"You know of Firkaag, then."  
  
"We've met," John said curtly.  
  
"Ah, then he must have asked you for help in ridding his land of some trouble in the form of a group of paladins and treasure hunters," the mage said. "Did you wonder why the red dragon would be unable to defeat such groups? When its power is such that it could probably burn down Trademeet if it wanted to?"  
  
"We were wondering," Y'vair admitted.  
  
"The paladins are of no consequence to it," the mage told them, "But it would be best if you were to leave them alone when you go there - they are of the Order of the Radiant Heart, which has influence in Athkatla. The treasure hunters, however.did he say how many there were?"  
  
"Seven," John said.  
  
"They are more than seven, and all good mercenaries - there should be about forty or so. They were all that my friend - the leader - could gather with the promise of a dragon's gold. He will help you - the dragon has taken something dear to him."  
  
"Forty or so people still isn't enough to take care of a red dragon, I'd think," Y'vair said dryly, "Only another dragon has a running chance of doing that. One intake of breath, one funnel of red dragon fire, and there you go."  
  
"With my friend, that may be different," the mage said, becoming a little sententious. "A dragon's fire is essentially magical, especially in the case of a red, as is the dragon itself. Without magic it cannot produce the fuel to ignite the fire at its mouth, nor can it heave its bulk into the air just by the power of its wings."  
  
"So?"  
  
"My friend, you see, is immune to magic."  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
Guenhwyvar: Guen is, in this story and in Rebel Heart, obviously different. ;) This is in reply to comments - Guen has been changed, story-wise, such that instead of being a spirit panther from some plane somewhere who gets called down through a figurine to help Drizzt, it's now a dream. A 'citizen', you could say, of the Dreaming created by Neil Gaiman. Go read Rebel Heart. It's a little complicated - insofar that Guen can walk on the Prime Material plane without getting tired by it, injured by magic or noticed by people who it doesn't really want to be able to see it (though this part isn't a very accurate explanation of what happens). The figurine doesn't exist anymore - Daniel, the new Dream King, took it. Guen can travel with John to the Dreaming whenever it wants.  
  
Artemis Entreri: In this slightly AU place, Entreri is out of character already - he's now a werewolf, and after a convoluted series of stories, rather likes K'yanae. The other word starting with 'l' is still undecided. His character has already changed past Salvatore's view of him. I can't stick to normal conceptions for some reason. John's out of character as well, at some points - his speech being the most obvious. 


	10. Elf, ye talk too much

Chapter 8  
  
Elf, ye talk too much  
  
"That's impossible!" Y'vair objected. "Unless he managed to get negation stones.but if he's as close as Windspear, I should have felt something."  
  
"Windspear is quite far away," Yoshimo pointed out. "Several day's journey by a good horse."  
  
Everyone looked perfectly happy to continue arguing, so Nalia and Hendak, at that point, excused themselves to the Copper Coronet to check on the knights and the children. They had kept their word to the group, after all.  
  
"Yoshimo, the Prime Material Plane is made of magic. Any creature whose existence is technically magical and is birthed on this Plane would be able to feel a negation stone when it's moving. The very Plane itself shrinks away from its presence. Such creatures might not recognize the sensation, and it might be extremely slight, but I can - I've been near one before."  
  
"He is immune to magic," the old mage repeated. "Go there and ask him, if you will. His name is Arundel - tell him that this year's winter might come early."  
  
"I'm sure he'd be interested to hear that," Y'vair said impatiently, "But."  
  
"Then he'd know I sent you."  
  
John thought that was one of the less imaginative codes he'd heard of so far, but he kept his opinion to himself.  
  
"Okay." They pried Arundel's description from the mage, exactly where his encampment was, and other details, such as the fact that the forty 'mercenaries' were dwarves, something that seemed to surprise Yoshimo until Y'vair pointed out the racial obsession dwarves had with gold. The mage was getting rather nervous about talking to them, and claimed he could not reveal his name in case the Cowled Wizards decided to question them.  
  
Yoshimo shook his head when they were on their way to the Copper Coronets to restock supplies and get some rest, the panther muttering to itself behind them about the dirt on the cobblestones. "Is it just me, or does he seem to resemble a certain girl of our mutual acquaintance on some elemental level pertaining to attitude?"  
  
Y'vair snorted, also aware of the need to be vague in case of spies. "If not for the fact that he's probably right about the others, I'd never have approached him. I don't need amber lynx gems that much."  
  
"I told you we could find another dealer," Yoshimo said. "Now.the Copper Coronet?"  
  
"We might like to try and buy some potions first," Entreri suggested.  
  
"The arm still aches?"  
  
"A little." Entreri had attempted to try and heal the werewolf way, which was to change shape and change back. Somehow the wolf took the pain away - if it wasn't too much of an injury. It hadn't worked, and he had admitted that he'd only been recently turned and so wasn't really familiar with what werewolves could do and what they couldn't do, something that seemed to worry Y'vair. Apparently recently turned werewolves were unstable - something about certain wolf-sides trying to fight for dominion of the shape first, and both sides having to make peace with each other before the werewolf in question could function 'normally'. Entreri had promised, with an absolutely straight face, that he would refrain from eating any of them.  
  
"We need to buy some more rations anyway," Y'vair shrugged. "Yoshimo, you're the thief. You take care of the buying."  
  
"I'm a thief, not a merchant," Yoshimo corrected with a smile, but he led their way towards Waukeen's Promenade.  
  
"Aren't they the same thing?" John asked.  
  
"A thief steals under cover, but a merchant steals in plain sight," Yoshimo pointed out. "There's a world of difference."  
  
Y'vair rolled her eyes theatrically up to the sky. "Don't argue with them, sparrow," she said dryly, "Thieves have something fundamentally lacking in their personality. They might decide to argue you back and forth on this point for days. I once argued with a thief on whether assassins were actually a type of thief for two weeks."  
  
"Assassins are assassins," Entreri stated, "And thieves are thieves. Though some assassins know thieving skills - lockpicking is very useful, and some thieves know how to kill surprisingly well. Being able to kill efficiently is a survival skill for anything that lives on the Sword Coast."  
  
"Assassins steal life under cover," Y'vair argued. "Thieves just steal other things."  
  
"Can we stop arguing about this?" Yoshimo was looking around nervously. "Mentioning those words together in the same sentence here in Athkatla attracts attention."  
  
"Hmph." Y'vair snorted, but shut up. Athkatla was in the midst of a guild war amongst thieves, and Yoshimo was probably right.  
  
**  
  
After restocking they sauntered out of the gate. John's magic kicked in eventually, as if reluctantly, when they'd walked for an hour and Y'vair was beginning to hint that he should try harder, on the dusty caravan path to Trademeet that they were following to find themselves on a gravel one.  
  
The tree cover was sparse now, though it didn't really look natural - after a few minutes they came across one copse that explained why - it was charred black, and the rocks around it for a five metre radius were smooth and deformed, looking for all the world like frozen gray water. Melted.  
  
"By the gods," Yoshimo breathed, as he examined the remains of a boulder that had probably towered ten feet in the air before having encountered a dragon's breath. Several suspicious smudges and charred fragments suggested that some creatures had stupidly tried to make a last stand. "John Constantine.are you sure you wish to do this?"  
  
"Right now I'm reconsidering that," John said sourly, with a sidelong glance at Entreri that Yoshimo and Y'vair saw but the assassin, as luck would have it, did not. Y'vair nodded her agreement and Yoshimo paled a little - John had silently but eloquently pointed out that if they attempted to back out of this now, Entreri might just decide to use his sword and dagger to drive them along.  
  
Entreri seemed oblivious - he was sniffing the air, a gesture that looked rather ludicrous, but of which John was not about to mock, since Entreri was in a sword's range of his neck. However, the panther padded a little closer to John and nudged his leg with a wet nose in warning, in case his mouth decided to get the better of his survival instinct.  
  
"Relax," John mouthed at it. It sniffed derisively, conveying its low opinion of John's sense of self-preservation. John rolled his eyes at it, and it pretended to bite John's hand, great teeth snapping silently shut just an inch away, then it rasped the back of his hand with a rough sandpaper tongue.  
  
"That's rather unnerving to watch, isn't it?" Yoshimo observed to Y'vair.  
  
"I'd say," she agreed. "But knowing our sparrow there, who knows what else he consorts with?"  
  
"There's someone ahead," Entreri said, before John could frame a suitable retort. "Five horses and men in full plate. Paladins, perhaps."  
  
"You can smell that? I can't see anything," Yoshimo squinted down the road. There were some specks far away.  
  
"Please," Entreri said with a pained look, "We're downwind from there, and full plate has a certain.fragrance. Horses as well. Combine the two and."  
  
"We can discuss that later," John interrupted. "So, what do we do about it?"  
  
Y'vair quickly pulled the hood over her horns and draped her cloak tightly around her to conceal her tail. "That, firstly," she said wryly, her face in shadow.  
  
"Knights on horses look impressive, and most of them have lances and broadswords. If you avoid being impaled on a lance, that's the first problem down." Yoshimo commented.  
  
"Try to push them off the horse," Entreri suggested, "With all that metal, they'd be a little stunned when they fall off. At that time try to stick a knife between their plates. They'd probably be wearing chain mail underneath it, so you'd have to do it rather hard - or maybe stab them through the mouth."  
  
Even John shuddered a little at the matter-of-fact way Entreri described the way to deal with a paladin.  
  
"The horses would be trouble," Yoshimo said, frowning, "I've seen them before - they're trained for battle, iron-shod hooves. They'd smash in your heads if you let them. They may not be afraid of wolves either," he told Entreri.  
  
"Wolves, but not werewolves," Entreri said simply. "This is, of course, if they fight," he added when he saw Y'vair rolling her eyes at them. "What?"  
  
"Men. Why is your first response always killing?"  
  
"We're just speculating, luv," John said mildly. They were getting closer.  
  
"Those aren't knights," Y'vair said, blinking. "Entreri?"  
  
In front of them were a group of creatures, five of them - two ogre mages, a troll, and, John noted with a sinking feeling, two umber hulks.  
  
"I don't suppose you have more cloudkill spells, luv?" he asked Y'vair.  
  
"This close, sparrow? Would you like to die with them?"  
  
"They're not monsters," Entreri said stubbornly, "They smell like humans on horses. All of them. And I've encountered ogre mages, trolls and umber hulks - half of those thanks to you lot - and they do not smell anywhere near this."  
  
"An illusion then?" Yoshimo asked curiously. "I have seen illusions before."  
  
"This is a very good one, then," Y'vair said doubtfully, "I have a dispel illusion spell. Let's hope it works."  
  
"The dragon's work?" Yoshimo noted, as they stopped walking. The knights noticed them, and approached cautiously.  
  
"Unless knights on this world like to make themselves look like monsters," John raised a hand. "All right, that's enough."  
  
The knights stopped. The illusion was certainly very good, and very detailed - even the shadow cast on the ground was appropriate to the shape.  
  
"You have seen the sun for the last time, foul ogre," one of them, disguised as an ogre-mage, said. Even the speech was the snarling, harsh tongue of its illusion-shape. "Henceforth you - and your evil companions' - sojourn on the lands of the people will end - by the blades of our swords!"  
  
"They sound like knights, all right," Yoshimo said, notching an arrow to his bow just in case.  
  
Y'vair, at that point, released her spell with a triumphant syllable, and there was a bright flash around them, and around the 'monsters'. The images eroded off quickly, wavering like mirages in extreme heat, then disappeared, to reveal five belligerent, confused knights on large chargers.  
  
"What.what magic is this?" one of the knights demanded.  
  
"You look much better as knights than ogres and umber hulks," Y'vair observed. "Someone - I suspect the dragon in this area - put a spell on everything in the area, perhaps."  
  
Some of the knights looked suspicious at this, but the apparent leader rode slightly to the front. "Perhaps 'tis so, lady - my companions and I have observed many monsters on this road that called us ogres and trolls, but we thought that the words were but the normal prerequisite insults before a battle."  
  
"They must have observed very sharply," Y'vair murmured, glancing at the drawn swords.  
  
"Very pointed conclusions," Yoshimo agreed with an absolutely straight face, with a wink at the lowered lances.  
  
The knights turned as one to stare at Y'vair, and she touched the hood of her cloak belatedly. During the spellcasting it had fallen back to reveal her horns.  
  
"Demon!" One of them gasped.  
  
Y'vair sighed deeply. "I don't suppose you've heard of the Bard Y'vair Cirrhal?" she ventured. "Or are we going to proceed to kill each other?"  
  
"Y'vair." one knight frowned, then brightened. "Oh, I recall now. My sister once went to watch one of your performances, and she found it most beautiful. But how can you prove you are who you claim you are?"  
  
Y'vair muttered darkly under her breath. "Damn. I suppose I can sing something."  
  
The impromptu performance that followed was a rather melancholic song in some musical language that Yoshimo reverently - and softly - identified as High elvish. Her voice was at times rich and poignant, and at times high and pure, again, John decided with the last vestiges of thought that remained in his head as all other thinking was driven out by exquisite song - like the voice of an angel. The music pulled at them on some fundamental level, almost insidiously, clearing their minds and filling it in turn with images of peace - though admittedly in John's case this was slightly difficult. He understood now how all those pictures he'd seen before of bards playing in the circle of entranced animals both savage and otherwise could have actually been true.  
  
When she finished, some hollow sniffling sounds from the knights showed that some of them were actually weeping openly.  
  
"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Y'vair. What is your business here? I am bound by duty to warn you that there is a dragon hereabouts that would greatly inconvenience you and your companions if you were to meet it," the knight asked, voice awed, raising his visor to reveal a rather youthful face. The other knights did the same, showing that they were all just about in their twenties or so. Their eyes displayed a rather unnerving lack of intelligence through the mist of tears. Perhaps it was all that armor.  
  
"The dragon has something we want," Yoshimo said, "And we're going to get it."  
  
"Ah, treasure-hunting," the knight said dismissively, "There is an encampment of your sort northeastwards of here."  
  
"What are you doing here, then?" John asked dryly.  
  
"The dragon is a great evil that must be dispatched," the knight declared, "We wait for others from our Order - and together we will fall upon the wicked wurm and rid the world of its existence." The others nodded their assent.  
  
"Interesting," Y'vair mused, "Are you from the Order of the Radiant Heart?"  
  
"It is our honor to be, Lady."  
  
"The Order has been in Athkatla for a while - and the dragon has been in Windspear even longer. Why attack now?"  
  
"The Godless one has asked for assistance - the dragon has, of late, woken from fitful slumber to pillage the villages around it, and the Godless one - despite his many faults - has kept the villages under his protection for a while, and would fight the dragon for them." The expression on the knight's open face was a curious mixture of disapproval and admiration.  
  
"The Godless one is involved in this?" Y'vair asked curiously. "Hmm. But if the dragon attacked any of his villages, I suppose so."  
  
"He gathered some mercenaries - the treasure hunters - with the promise of gold to aid in the attack," the knight said, "We arrived earlier from Trademeet, and wait for our brethren from the motherhouse in Athkatla. If you would aid us - go henceforth to the encampment." The knight seemed to have forgotten his disdain of 'treasure-hunters' earlier on, fully caught up in his speech. "We will meet all of you there anon when reinforcements arrive."  
  
"Interesting," Y'vair said once they walked out of earshot. "Can it be that the Godless one and the mage's friend are one and the same? But I hadn't heard of any immunity to magic."  
  
"Unless there are two groups of treasure-hunters," Yoshimo said. "But I think the knights may have mentioned it."  
  
"Knights don't really possess a normal degree of intelligence."  
  
"They would have mentioned it," John observed sardonically, "If just to prolong the speech."  
  
"Well.we'd see." Y'vair looked around. The landscape was mostly of gentle gradient, with the occasional group of rocks jutting out of it. To the far west there was a large domed landform, perhaps larger than two of Waukeen's Promenade. The rock was dark gray, and there were odd-shaped structures in front of it that looked like many ossified, whitened fingers, stretched painfully up to the soft blue bowl of the sky.  
  
"The dragon's cave?" Entreri pointed.  
  
"I'd think so," Y'vair said, "Those look like ruins in front of it."  
  
"What a depressing thought," Yoshimo sighed. "I don't suppose I can talk us out of this?"  
  
"Bit late now, mate," John glanced involuntarily at the large domed rock again. "Just who is this Godless one? Another paladin?"  
  
"That's an open topic of debate in several areas," Y'vair said as they strolled along, "He's been around for a while - a century or so, I think. You can't really tell with elves. Wandering around this part of the Sword Coast. Has an absolute mania for building schools that teach peasant children to reading, writing, rudimentary defense skills, a background of Faerun, and such. Adults.well, if they're farmers he teaches them better agricultural systems and so on. Basic things to improve their standards of living."  
  
"He sells his services as a mercenary to the highest bidder - frankly he's seen as rather amoral, so long as no one tries to interfere with the villages under his wing. The schools don't teach morals - they teach choice between morals, and freedom. Some politician decided once that the teachings were blasphemous, or something, then tried to take steps. Soldiers showed up at all of the villages he was protecting to try and burn down the schools - and all of a sudden were beset by all sorts of monsters that drove them off. The villages helped."  
  
"Things were all set up for a general civil war, until the Shadow Thieves decided to take steps. They made the politician withdraw the troops, and leave the schools alone. It's been a tacit treaty ever since to stay out of his way."  
  
"A hundred years?" John grasped.  
  
"He's an elf." Yoshimo said, "A mixture of gold and moon elves. 'Pure' gold and moon elves avoid him - there's quite a bit of prejudice in elven society, righteous and enlightened as they're supposed to be."  
  
"An elf wearing something heavier than chain mail?" Entreri looked skeptical.  
  
"He makes his own armor," Y'vair commented. "And his horse."  
  
"Don't you mean his horse's armor?" Entreri corrected.  
  
"No," Y'vair smiled. "His horse is a equine-shaped golem."  
  
"Then he's a mage?" Entreri looked even more confused.  
  
"That's the part I don't understand either," Y'vair admitted. "It's quite possible he got a mage to make it for him, but I'd like to know what he paid the mage to make that for him. It's not stone or clay, but steel."  
  
"An adamantite blend with traces of platinum, titanium and mithril, actually," an urbane voice said to their right. The party turned sharply to see an elf step out of one of those sporadic copses of trees that dotted the landscape.  
  
He was of average height for an elf - slightly shorter than Y'vair, with eyes gray as river-washed pebbles, twinkling as though suppressing some immense joke that only he could comprehend. Hair that looked like molten silver tumbled down to his shoulders, where from the looks of it, it had been hacked off from there with a knife. The silvery curtain framed a bronze-skinned, sensitive face with a typically small chin. Like most male elves, he was handsome to the point of being pretty, but for elven standards, was not remarkably handsome. Slender ears peeped out of the curtain of hair, tapering to an elf's delicate points. He wore full plate armor of rather unconventional design, wrought of some unidentifiable black metal, ornamented with symbols traced in steel, that did not seem to form any sort of pattern or picture at all, a chaotic swirl of thin metal lines.  
  
Over his armor he wore a surcoat of blue so pale as to be nearly white, and his heavy cloak was of the same hue. It looked rather blinding on the black armor. His broadsword hung in a scabbard by his side, the hilt wrapped tightly in strips of soft leather. On the other hip was a heavy crossbow, a weapon that looked rather out of place on him. It was built of blued steel, and looked quite deadly - a crossbow bolt could punch through full plate armor with ease. There was the required pouch for the crossbow bolts, travel-worn and dusty.  
  
"A mutual friend wishes you to know that this year's winter might come early," John told him. "Come up with better passwords next time."  
  
The elf winced. "Ah.that was not my idea. That mutual friend of ours spends most of his considerable free time reading badly-written romances."  
  
"Adamantite? On the surface world?" Entreri raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it."  
  
"I found a blend that prevented the disintegration," the elf said with a happy grin.  
  
"You found a blend? Didn't a mage make it for you?" Y'vair asked, astonished.  
  
"Oh no, who would make a golem for someone else, especially a non- human shaped golem? I had to do it myself," the elf made a face. "You can't believe how long I took to do it."  
  
"But you're not a mage!"  
  
"I am an elf," he said simply. "And besides, I didn't use magic to make it. It took me at least fifty years to finish the thing though - had to get dwarves to help me with the forging of metal, and all that."  
  
The party blinked. Fifty years.but that was not a lot of time to an elf. And not magic? But before Y'vair could ask, Arundel had rambled on again.  
  
"My name - the one I use most often anyway - is Arundel. What's yours?" There seemed to be some sort of irrepressible enthusiasm about the elf - the sort of enthusiasm of either the innately innocent or those high on drugs.  
  
"I am called John Constantine," John began.  
  
"Ah, so you're the group that came out to Waukeen's Promenade," Arundel smiled. He did not notice the panther. "You must be Yoshimo - I've been to Kara-Tur before. Interesting place."  
  
"An elf in Kara-Tur?" Yoshimo blinked. Arundel responded by speaking in a musical tongue that sounded suspiciously like Japanese. Yoshimo blinked again, then replied, and bowed fluidly. Arundel bowed as well, the graceful ritual seeming as out of place as he was in his armor.  
  
"And this must be Y'vair Cirrhal, the famous bard." Arundel bowed to Y'vair, armor creaking. Y'vair smiled at him, rather flattered. Arundel looked curiously at Entreri.  
  
"My name is Jasek," Entreri said smoothly.  
  
Arundel raised an eyebrow. "Truly? I was in Calimport some years past, and I do believe I heard description of a man with a jeweled dagger - quite like yours - and his description matches you as well. His name was Artemis Entreri, friend to K'yanae whom, if I'm not wrong, was companion to these people until that confrontation in Waukeen's Promenade."  
  
Entreri shrugged then, giving up. "That is also one of my names."  
  
Arundel flashed another of his charming grins. "I'm glad that's settled, then. As it happens, I do know where they've taken your friend - but I'd rather tell you in private."  
  
"We thank you, then." Yoshimo said when he saw John was not about to respond. Could this Arundel be trusted? His manner was most genial, but his eyes were keenly sharp, darting from face to face, as if waiting for a certain sort of reaction from them, afraid that they had guessed something about him. But what was it?  
  
"I have one question," Y'vair frowned. "Is your nickname true?"  
  
"Which one? 'Tinned elven bastard' isn't really, as far as I know, and."  
  
"I meant 'Godless one'," Y'vair chuckled. "Professional curiosity. I'm a bard, and technically a mage can't wear the full plate - it's too restricting for spellcasting - and I thought only a full cleric would be able to summon creatures to protect others."  
  
"Oh, that," Arundel waved a gauntleted hand dismissively. "It's not true. I follow a god - a relatively lesser-known one, but I choose not to make it common knowledge. And I'm not a paladin in the precise sense of the word, anyway." He gestured theatrically at his pointed ears. "It drives the full paladins crazy," he confided with a smirk. "Now, let's go dragon hunting, shall we?"  
  
"The mage said you were immune to magic," Yoshimo said quickly. "How?"  
  
"This one needs some explanation - I'd show you when we get back to the encampment." So saying, he strolled away. The party glanced at each other, then John shrugged. What else could they do? There were some suspicious things about Arundel - especially the fact that he didn't admit which god he followed - but they didn't have any other choice - unless they decided to go attack the red dragon all by themselves.  
  
The encampment was an orderly affair of stakes and a high wood fence. When asked about why they used wood in a dragon-ruled area, Arundel had replied that in the face of red dragon fire, whether they used wood or stone made not a whit of difference, and wood was easier to erect. It apparently worked just as well with the occasional band of monsters that the dragon sent out to attack the encampment.  
  
The high gate was guarded by two dwarves, red beards bristling as they approached, then relaxing when they noticed Arundel. The large battle- axes that all dwarves seemed to carry was polished until it gleamed, though there were a few nicks on the blades, as though there had been a recent attack and these dwarves hadn't had time to go smooth them out yet. The gate was open, just enough for them to enter and for the guards to retreat if anything came, but not wide enough such that it would be difficult to close on a moment's notice. There were several siege weapons - the sort that fires large trunk-thick versions of crossbow bolts at great speed and force - which probably explained why the dragon hadn't thought of coming to burn it down.  
  
Oddly enough, the inside of the encampment appeared just as orderly as the outside - something that Y'vair remarked on.  
  
"That's easy," Arundel shrugged. "All the 'mercenaries' those knights you must have met on the road that I have are dwarves. The humans that approached me made my stomach turn - given any chance at all; they'd betray us when the dragon's dead. At least the dwarves are willing to keep to deals, if they like you. And dwarves keep neat camps. Must be something lacking in their personality," he raised his voice slightly, as a dwarf with a slightly more ornate helmet and a mithril axe stumped out in front of them.  
  
"What're ye doin' wanderin' out all by yerself into the countryside without yer horse, ye stupid elf? Ye could'ha met the stupid dragon!" the dwarf lost no time in shouting. Other dwarves stopped whatever they were doing to watch, with barely concealed grins - apparently this was rather common. The dwarves seemed to be an even mix of females and males - with some clerics.  
  
"I knew where I was going, Clurgan," Arundel said mildly. "This is Clurgan," he introduced the furious dwarf to the rest of the group, "More widely known as the mother of this encampment than as leader of the clan Ironhammer, which I still don't understand, since I haven't seen anyone carrying an iron hammer around."  
  
"Elf, ye talk too much," Clurgan growled. "Iff'n not fer the fact that without ye and yer horse we ain't goin' to kill the dragon, I wouldn't care if ye got eaten up by hobgoblins - if they kin get ye to shut up long enough to get et!"  
  
"You break my heart, Clurgan," Arundel pressed a gauntleted hand on his breastplate theatrically.  
  
"He nivver shuts up," Clurgan groused aloud to the rest of his clan. They nodded solemnly, grinning at Arundel.  
  
"I'm hurt," he protested.  
  
"Good," Clurgan told him, then eyed the party. "Who are these lot? Takin' in adventurers already?"  
  
"They'd be useful," Arundel said, "The lady Y'vair is a bard - so our problem about spells has been solved."  
  
"Whatever," Clurgan turned and began to walk off. "If ye think they kin be trusted, that's yer problem. Their share's comin' outa yers, though."  
  
Arundel looked slightly pained as he faced the group. "Ah, I'd forgotten about that. These representatives from Clurgan's clan have a share of the gold. Technically the paladins are joining us in the name of right and honor, or what have you, so they're not going to get paid much - but what are you here for?"  
  
"The Dark Sighing.and as to the rest.we can discuss this." Yoshimo beamed, showing that at the heart of every thief was a merchant who got more unscrupulous than usual.  
  
Arundel sighed. "Don't bankrupt me, though - I need the money from this enterprise to open up a few more schools. Right - step into this tent here, and I'd tell you a little about what we're going to do - though the bulk of it will have to wait until the knights get here."  
  
Inside a relatively higher tent, obviously for humanoids taller than dwarves, was plain furniture - a pile of fabric in a corner for a bed, a table and some chairs, spare weapons and the equipment needed for maintaining them, scrolls, and an unrolled map on the table weighted down neatly by two daggers. The only ornate thing in the entire tent was what appeared to be a life-sized metal statue of a war-horse, deathly still next to the bed, except for the metal slits that seemed to be its eyes, which glowed a subdued teal green.  
  
The golem, as it appeared, was a masterwork of art, perfectly forged out of dark metal traced with silver mithril lines in designs that looked like elaborations of the one on Arundel's armor. There was a sheen of deep blue on the metal, cold highlights that also glinted off two ears pricked forward as if in alert, and down metal, muscled legs that had no joints whatsoever to suggest that the statue could actually move. The hooves were shod in mithril, and each one had two large blood-red rubies embedded in them, or something that closely resembled the precious stone. The saddle was part of the horse itself, though it was padded comfortably with wine- dark velvet cushions, and it had hooks at the end for saddlebags, apparently. The black, long tail and mane looked like horsehair, but was too silky to be it. There was no bridle, on the golem or in sight.  
  
Arundel wandered up to it, reached up and patted it affectionately on the forelock. It turned its head to regard him with the glowing eyes - not with the jerky robotic movements that John had been expecting, but with a sort of boneless grace that was just as unnatural. "This is the reason why I'm immune to magic," Arundel said, stroking its mane. The golem regarded the party with teal eyes.  
  
"I don't see - or feel - any negation stones on it," Y'vair said, frowning, "But there's something odd."  
  
"It's not made by magic, or of magic," Arundel said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "It's a bit hard to explain.the closest term I can think of is that it's made of Science."  
  
"What?" Y'vair blinked.  
  
"Every world is a balance of a lot of things," Arundel seemed to be choosing his words with care, as if trying to explain the concept of Relativity to a three-year-old. "There's good and evil, chaos and order, and so on. It also has science and magic. On this world, the balance has tipped in favor of magic. Worlds where it's tipped in favor of science develop very quickly technologically - usually in the space of a few thousand years, and worlds where it hasn't can subsist on the same technological level for the same number of years. Magic stunts technological growth - science stunts the growth of the arcane."  
  
The elf looked up to glazed faces and grinned sheepishly. "I knew you lot wouldn't understand that. Anyway, to cut it short, I found a way of letting science into this world. Pure science is rather like magic, except that it works on the principles that if something is technically possible, then it can be done, so if you twist in a little, the many technically possible things can make up a large thing that is fundamentally impossible but since it's made up of possible details, it works."  
  
"To cut it short.?" John asked dryly, though he rather understood. The others didn't.but they didn't live in a world that was rather balanced between science and magic.  
  
"Er yes, quite," Arundel looked mildly embarrassed. "It means that against all logic on this world, the 'golem', as it is known here, works without magic. And since it's made of, or with pure science, it's immune to magic - which doesn't exist in the face of science. Anything touching it shares in that immunity. As a demonstration, I would like to ask Y'vair to cast a spell at us." He put his hand on the neck of the golem.  
  
Y'vair shrugged, and put out her hands, palms facing Arundel. Red globes of light - magic missiles - shot out, curving slightly in their trajectory, then appeared to hit Arundel and the golem - except that they dissipated abruptly before touching.  
  
"There you go," Arundel smiled.  
  
"But the dragon's fire." Yoshimo blinked.  
  
"Doesn't affect me," Arundel said promptly. "I've tried that already."  
  
"You attacked the dragon?" Y'vair asked curiously.  
  
"Not really.it tried to attack the encampment again, but not from the air after one time a bolt punched through its wing - so from the ground. I rode out to meet it, and after it realized its fire couldn't touch me and my friend here - " he patted the golem, "was too fast to hit, he retreated in a huff."  
  
A dwarf walked into the tent at that moment, and without preamble, stated, "Clurgan says the knights are here, if ye wants to get yer tinned arse out to meet them." Then he wandered off.  
  
"Don't you just love dwarves?" Arundel grinned. "Right. I think I have to do this properly." He backed off a little, and the golem trotted behind him like an obedient dog - though its gait was impossibly smooth - the legs seemed to lengthen slightly as they stretched and shorten slightly as they touched ground under the body - such that any rider wouldn't suffer the rocking gait of a true horse.  
  
Outside, Arundel mounted the horse, and it trotted towards the gate, the party following.  
  
"You don't need a bridle?" Entreri jerked his head at Arundel's free hands. The werewolf looked slightly uneasy in the presence of the golem, and no wonder - the heavy tread of the golem spoke of an ability to smash in a skull with a single kick. Something about the oiled way it moved also suggested that if it really needed to, it could be snake-quick.  
  
"The golem is keyed to me," Arundel shrugged. "It knows where I want to go. It has a bit of myself in it, after all."  
  
At their blank stares, the elf grinned boyishly and elaborated. "I put a bit of my soul into my armor, my sword, my crossbow and this thing - so they're keyed to me and won't work for any other - on they other hand, they all work a lot better for me. That's one reason why I'm trying to kill the dragon - it has my sword. This one's just a mere steel replacement."  
  
Before they could ask any more questions, they had reached the gate and the mass of dwarves peering out from behind it. Outside were twenty knights, including Ajantis and company. They seemed to ignore the dwarves, but stared at Arundel with a mixture of curiosity and preconceived antipathy.  
  
One of the knights, or paladins, or whatever this world chose to call them - nudged his horse forward, and he raised his visor to show a grizzled face lined with age. "Greetings to the Godless One from the Order of the Radiant Heart," he said formally.  
  
Arundel's golem carried him forward out of the gate, where it stopped, unmoving. "Greetings to the Order of the Radiant Heart," he said just as formally, "I thank you for pledging your aid."  
  
"It is our duty to protect and serve the innocent and weak," the leader declared, "And the dragon is a foul abomination in the eyes of the world. Let us join our forces, and will ye, nil ye, even the Gates of Hell cannot stand before us."  
  
Arundel suddenly grinned. "I like that line."  
  
The leader returned his smile. "You should have. I spent the long journey here composing speeches. Do you want to hear the rest of it? Or the other possibilities?"  
  
"The last time I said yes, I had to sit and listen to you for the better part of an hour," Arundel retorted. "I'd rather go in before the night welds me to my armor with the cold."  
  
The leader laughed. "I've missed you, elf."  
  
"My days have been bereft of light by your uncaring absence, Bayer," Arundel said dramatically. The dwarves sniggered behind him. "Come on. We're going to have a council of war - unless you people want to go and pray to Helm for a few hours, if not we'd make our decisions then tell you afterwards."  
  
Some of the younger knights gasped at this apparent insult, but Bayer merely smirked. "Or we could have the council with the dwarves while you go and dance to the moon and worship whatever heathen deity you claim to follow with strange and obscure elven rites. Knowing how you lot treat the idea of time, it might just take several centuries."  
  
"I give, I give," Arundel held up his hands in mock surrender. "Welcome to my humble camp." He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the area.  
  
"Humble, Arundel? You? I do hope you're feeling well."  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
Science and Magic: Just something I thought up while in the bathroom. Quite a few ideas crop up in there...I wonder why. Heh. 


	11. The word 'Understatement'

Chapter 9  
  
The word 'understatement'  
  
"The dwarves attack through this entrance," Arundel stabbed the map with a finger, "And we start here."  
  
They were outside the tent, having moved out the table, so that all the dwarves and knights could listen. The horses had been tied to the golem somewhere out of sight and smell.  
  
"That's the open exit of the cave you're attacking through," Bayer objected, "You might be immune to the dragon's fire, but we aren't."  
  
"Listen to me first," Arundel said patiently. "Now, Clurgan.you and your clan members have to go through this entrance, because it leads inside to his 'barracks' where he puts all his creatures. Can you handle them?"  
  
Clurgan hefted his battleaxe thoughtfully. "We killed a lot of hobgoblins durin' the last time he had a go at us," he rumbled, "An' as far as we can see, his ranks 'ave been thinnin'. We shouldha' not many problems.'cept for that tiger-faced bastard."  
  
"Ah yes, the Rakshasha," Arundel mused. "Hmm. Avoid him if possible - he just wants to kill me due to my nearly clipping off one of his ears with a crossbow bolt when he came to attack this place the last time, so he might leave if he sees all of you just pouring in without me. I'd deal with him if he tries to attack me. He's dangerous, and he has spells."  
  
"Let's see if he kin use his magic words with an axe through his brain," Clurgan smiled. Several of the dwarves chuckled evilly.  
  
"I love dwarves," Arundel remarked cheerfully to no one in particular. "Okay. So just go in and create enough havoc with the hobgoblins such that they don't come and bother us."  
  
"We're a diversion, then?" Clurgan glanced up at Arundel through a thick bush of eyebrows.  
  
"Well yes."  
  
"S'long as there's hobgoblins to kill," the dwarf grunted. "Right. So we kill enough of them that they're only int'rested in runnin' away."  
  
Arundel grinned. "If you like. For us, however.the plan is a bit more complicated. Lady Y'vair - I have a scroll of mass-invisibility and a modified silence radius, so we can sneak past spies that might warn the dragon. Tomorrow morning you'd cast both on us when we're in sight of the open entrance, as we get those giant crossbows into position. They're a bit difficult to aim - but I got Bayer here to get Radiant Heart people who know how to use them." he glanced at his friend.  
  
Bayer snorted. "Any knight here who can't use a siege weapon doesn't deserve to be called a knight."  
  
"That's an odd definition," John noted. His panther sat quietly beside him. Apparently it was still preventing itself from being seen, for some reason he didn't know and didn't really care about.  
  
"It's in their training," Bayer shrugged. "Over to you, elf."  
  
"Why, thank you. Okay, what we've done is tie a stout cable of rope and metal each to a bolt, so it becomes some sort of large grappling hook. The end of each long cable we'd tie to one of the pillars or rocks around the area - I did some scouting and found suitable ones. Then the next part - more work for Lady Y'vair, I'm afraid. I have a ring of air elemental summoning I bought from Waukeen's Promenade some time ago. She'd have to use it - the scroll or spell equivalent won't work in the silence."  
  
"That's tricky, but I should be able to do it," Y'vair nodded.  
  
"I'd hope you will." Arundel said seriously, "We need that elemental. I've put together a barrel of certain chemical powders that I'd put somewhat inside the entrance to the cave, then Yoshimo here will fire a flame arrow into it - or I can use my crossbow."  
  
"I can hit the barrel," Yoshimo nodded.  
  
"At which point it'd explode into a large cloud of purplish vapor, and Y'vair has to get the elemental to blow the vapor away from us into the cave itself. A nice stiff wind would do. If you see the vapor coming towards you - move quickly out of the way. It'd make you terribly ill. Anyway, the dragon won't like this vapor, and there'd be a lot of it, so sooner or later it'd come charging out of the entrance."  
  
"The entrance isn't large enough for it to fly, so I'd assume it'd walk, unless it rolls. It'd be maddened, blinded, and ill - hopefully the silence spell would still be in effect, so it can't cast spells. When it appears, at my signal - I'd throw a light flare on the ground - everyone use the siege engines. They're not as large as the normal-sized ones, and the dwarves have made some modifications, so it should be easier to calibrate quickly, depending on whether the dragon attempts to fly or charge. Try to get the bolt into the head, neck or the thickness of the body itself - the wings aren't much use, and the tail's thin. If it's not dead by then, it'd at least be restrained - we tighten the rope and cable and force it down."  
  
John tore his eyes from Arundel's face and looked around. Dwarf and human alike wore expressions of fascination as Arundel matter-of-factly described how they were about to fight - no, slaughter - a dragon.  
  
"It's intelligent, but hopefully the smoke would have confused it. It doesn't last very long, though - so by this time the vapor would have worn off. At this time, anyone with ranged weapons try to hit it in the eyes. Then if it's not dead I'd attack the head - since the fire won't affect me. If you see the mouth pointing at you - run. Red dragon fire is notorious for his power, so I won't insult you by warning you about it. The other knights get your chargers and use lances on it - don't bother with swords, they'd probably bounce off its armor unless you can find weaknesses - and I doubt it. If we stick enough lances into it, it'd probably die."  
  
"Probably?" Bayer said in an awed tone. "If the engines hadn't killed it, and these measures didn't kill it, I'd vote dragons are invincible."  
  
"I hope not," Arundel smiled a little shyly. "Now, do you have any further suggestions?"  
  
The elf was actually looking for criticism. He actually thought his plan might have deep flaws in it that he hadn't noticed. John blinked at Arundel, and wondered how old he was in elven terms.  
  
"Are you sure the cables can hold it?" John asked finally. "I haven't seen a dragon before, but."  
  
"I hope so," Arundel frowned. "If not - the engines should have done their work."  
  
"We have some grapplin' hooks ye kin take along in case," Clurgan suggested. "To git its wings an' tail under control."  
  
"I can use that," Entreri nodded. Yoshimo nodded as well.  
  
"Can't it change its shape?" Y'vair asked curiously.  
  
"Hmm. It probably can.all right, if you see anything coming out of the cave, shoot it - I'd hand out some crossbows or bows, depending on preference. If it's a bird or anything small we can probably kill him with bolts and arrows.and I doubt there's anything bigger he can turn into other than his natural form. And if he attempts to change shape when he's been hit - let's just say that though a siege bolt through a dragon might be an inconvenience, a siege bolt through a human is a big problem."  
  
Bayer snorted. "Have you ever heard of the word 'understatement' before, elf?"  
  
**  
  
There were some spare tents - though dwarf-sized, so there was a mild problem. Some of the knights opted to sleep in the open, since it didn't look like it would rain - one of the tents was erected for the sole purpose of putting in all their armor out of the weather. The party glanced at them, then shrugged at themselves and managed to fit into some tents - John with Yoshimo, if they didn't try to stand up abruptly, Entreri and the panther, to its annoyance, but Yoshimo looked nervous about sharing a tent with an unstable werewolf, and there was no room for the panther in John's tent. Lastly, Y'vair had a tent to herself. It was some sort of unspoken agreement. The panther didn't mind sleeping in her tent, but knew that if - and this was a big if - Entreri did go mad in the night, it would be able to give the party some fair warning.  
  
Entreri seemed to take this caution in his stride - his face was inscrutable.  
  
John's sleep was fitful. It wasn't that Yoshimo snored - the thief did, but it was bearable - but that his dreams were odd, again with the sense that someones, or somethings, was battling. When he woke up, however, he couldn't remember a thing.  
  
**  
  
The next day dawned a dull gray, with the promise of rain. The encampment buzzed with activity - after washing up and a quick breakfast, everyone set to work. The dwarves got into their chain mail and then began to help the knights harness the engines to the horses, with some clever wheel devices that would set down the engine solidly if a lever was pushed, or allow it to be towed behind like a wagon if it was pulled.  
  
The party watched the proceedings with Arundel just outside his tent.  
  
"How were you sure that a mage would be with your group?" John asked curiously, rubbing his sleeve absently. He wasn't used to having a starched-clean trenchcoat every day - Y'vair had insisted on using her cleaning spells on the party. The panther had approved though.it sat down on its haunches happily next to him, sniffed, and purred deeply.  
  
"Well, if you weren't coming - and I hadn't known about you until the mage friend told me - I could have asked the mage to recommend any other mage to me," Arundel shrugged. "There's gold in the having, after all."  
  
"Mages are rather greedy," Yoshimo agreed, with a grin. "No offense, Y'vair."  
  
"I'm a bard, not a mage," Y'vair corrected, "Though I find that singing in battle rather wastes energy if one can handle a sword and fight."  
  
"That's an interesting sentiment," Entreri murmured.  
  
"Are you sure the rest of you would like to come with us?" Arundel inquired, "You could fight with the dwarves if you wanted to."  
  
"We can use ranged weapons," John said, patting his slingshot. The 'medieval' words came a little more easily to him now - though he still woke up with a distinct sense of displacement every day.  
  
Arundel nodded. "Hmm, that seems to be about it. I wonder.perhaps we should cast the mass-invisibility spell on the dwarves as well, for a surprise attack."  
  
"How many scrolls do you have?" Y'vair looked amused.  
  
"Several," Arundel grinned. "I've had a long time to plan this, believe me. Once I considered using the Greater Malison and then Polymorph Other, but it's tricky and doesn't have a full chance of succeeding."  
  
"And this one has?"  
  
"It has a higher chance," Arundel smiled irrepressibly, "But you can have the Malison and Polymorph scrolls just in case. Fighting a squirrel would be a lot easier."  
  
"This understatement thing is truly unbecoming of thee," Bayer announced, clanking up to them.  
  
"But you like me anyway, don't you?" Arundel asked, with an exaggeratedly vapid expression.  
  
"He really canna stop talkin'," Clurgan observed from behind the knight. "Well, elf, we've all finished. 'Tis yer go."  
  
"I thought you'd never be done. Clurgan.Y'vair is going to cast mass invisibility on your group as well. Just get them to stay close to one dwarf that you order to stand in the middle of the group. Now everyone outside, please."  
  
Outside, Y'vair cast Mass Invisibility on a solemn-looking dwarven cleric, and the dwarves abruptly disappeared from view after the obligatory spell pyrotechnics. It seemed that spells just adored having flashes of blue light, clouds, odd smells, and all that. The dwarves could be heard, of course, as they marched off ahead of the group, which made it just that bit more unnerving.  
  
Then she solemnly cast Mass Invisibility and Silence on herself. It didn't seem to have worked - until John attempted to talk. No sound came out. But he could still see the rest of the party.apparently the spell made party members visible to each other, but nothing else.  
  
In total silence - even the crunch of gravel under the siege engines and the sound of the horses' trotting was missing - they made their way to the yawning mouth of the entrance to the dragon's cave, and John, not for the first time since he'd entered this world, wondered if he were insane.  
  
The distance to the cave seemed acutely short - though when Y'vair shot him a questioning glance he shrugged. Synchronicity didn't appear to be working - or if it were, it was working with greater subtlety. The horses didn't look too happy pulling the engines with the knights leading them - so John maniacally imagined them thanking him for shortening the distance.  
  
The ruins were quite a bit more substantial than they'd thought from a distance. Large pillars - that resembled the fossilized fingers - jutted out into the sky, and there were large rocks lying around. John wondered vaguely how it had come about - perhaps the dark ash coating the ground was volcanic, and the eruption had caused the city to be abandoned.or maybe the dragon happened to it.  
  
The cave opening was quite wide, enough for a dragon, but not high enough for it to fly out. It snaked away into the darkness quite a ways - the dark rock landform was massive this close up, like a section of a mountain - then curved out of sight. Nothing guarded the entrance - who needed to, after all?  
  
The knights got to work quite efficiently - rechecking the knots on the shaft of the bolts, and tying the ends to pillars or rocks securely, untying the harnesses from their horses and tying their bridles to convenient places to prevent them from bolting if the dragon came out. Yoshimo glanced to Arundel, flame arrow notched in his bow - his grappling hook hanging from his belt. John sat down on a rock next to a siege engine with Entreri, both staying out of everyone's way. He found that there was an exhilarating excitement involved in this, which made him feel light- headed - butterflies-in-the-stomach that he got whenever doing something recklessly dangerous.  
  
To his astonishment, he found he was enjoying this.  
  
Arundel finally motioned to Y'vair and Yoshimo to follow. The golem horse moved silently into the cave, and he nodded at Y'vair, who immediately seemed to concentrate, palms facing out. The air seemed to thicken and coalesce into a cloud, and continued solidifying until an indistinct, eight-foot-tall, vaguely human shape could be seen in the cloud. The elemental shuddered as Y'vair enforced her will on it, and mage and elemental seemed to be locked in their poses for what seemed to be a long moment - then the elemental stopped moving, shoulders bent in defeat.  
  
Y'vair gestured, and a brisk wind started, ruffling her beautiful hair, and causing dead leaves to waltz erratically in the air. At that same moment Arundel quickly maneuvered the heavy barrel down from where it had been strapped to the horse, then he remounted the golem and galloped out. Yoshimo and Y'vair retreated, and the thief carefully shot. The arrow arched in, burst into flame, and embedded itself into the barrel.  
  
There was a brief pause, and then everyone was treated to the sight of the barrel exploding without sound. The wind grew stronger, blowing the expanding cloud of purple vapor away from them into the cave. Y'vair and Yoshimo walked quickly over to John and Entreri.  
  
They waited tensely, as Arundel carefully took a bottle from his saddlebag and broke the seal. The light-flare, John surmised. Everyone cleared from the wide path out of the cave, to the line of six siege engines - three on each side.  
  
Suddenly the ground shook, as though thunder had rolled through the sky near the earth, or an earthquake had struck - or something unimaginably huge had roared its fury. From the cloud of purple burst the dragon, jaws working as it screamed - or attempted to, in the silence-spell.  
  
John could only stare, mouth gaping open, having seen a lot of damned- scary, bowel-turning sights in his long life, but few as magnificent as this. The dragon was immense - one eye was easily larger than his head alone, and the teeth were as long as short swords, or worse. It belched bright flame into the air, the searing heat even John could feel, this far away, and smell the stink of sulphur and brimstone. It lurched forward, apparently not seeing anyone - the smoke must have blinded it - wings flapping awkwardly, one just missing knocking over a pillar, which would have seriously inconvenienced the knights behind it.  
  
Arundel hurled the bottle up into the air above the dragon - a phenomenal throw, John noted idly. Glass winked with sunlight as it shot high up into a graceful curve. Then just as quickly, the elf cocked his crossbow and shot in a fluid move just as the bottle was beginning to descend from the apex of is arc - and the glass shattered, releasing a short burst of green light.  
  
Immediately the knights - whom had already begun carefully calibrating the engine mechanism when the dragon had emerged, used the engines. The force of the bolts loosed from the engines forced said engines back against the rock, scoring deep grooves in the soil. The large spears slammed into the dragon - one in the neck - long enough that John could see the point emerge through it, blood red - and the other three in the large body, and two in trunk-sized legs, crushing bone with wet cracks and causing them to collapse under the dragon, such that its belly brushed the ground. The other two claws scrabbled frantically on the dirt, and the knights prudently avoided them.  
  
The dragon's eyes widened, and it opened its mouth to scream its pain, but no sound came out. The surprise it felt was nearly palpable, as it snapped its jaws shut, and then it tried to wrench away, head turning from side to side as it tried to clear its sight. The cables held tight, and the bolts had been lucky - with the exception of the neck, where one bolt had been a little too high, and the tail which hadn't been hit, the rest of the dragon was pinned to the ground.  
  
The dragon, mouth open in a soundless snarl, jerked its head around, just enough for jaws to close on one cable from a bolt in its neck, and, mindless in its rage and agony, pulled with its considerable might. This was a definite mistake - the pillar that cable had been attached to was tall, and the cable had been tied high in the middle of it. As the knights around the pillar hurriedly got out of the way, John could see it shift - then the large slabs of stone that made it up came apart and rained down on the dragon, slamming into its head and neck.  
  
Stunned, head close to the ground, John surprised himself by approaching cautiously but quickly and using throwing knives. One skittered off the eye horn to fall harmlessly on the ash on the ground, and the other managed to bury itself to the hilt into its eye. The dragon belched fire in pain, then its mouth worked again and it swung its head to the side as if hit from the other side - yes! John could see two crossbow bolts in the other eye - from the knights. Yoshimo prudently shot a few more arrows into the eye, and then the knights began to use their lances, not very easy since it was thrashing around in its agony.  
  
With the force of the charger and speed, they drove the sharpened poles into the dragon's side, then retreated in an orderly fashion, ten knights on either side of the dragon, two at each charge. The lashing tail was solemnly taken care off as Entreri and Yoshimo circled quickly and got their grappling hooks around it, the ends pre-tied to other rock structures. With his werewolf strength, Entreri surprisingly managed to adjust his end such that the tail snagged tight low on the ground where it couldn't lash out at someone, then he quickly moved to Yoshimo's side to help the thief with his end.  
  
Arundel was singlehandledly attacking the head with his sword, whenever it rose high enough for him to duck under while riding the golem and stick lances into it. He had already ridden through the fire several times without any effect. When the dragon tried to lower his head to prevent that, jerking horribly on the ends of the bolts as it did so, John and Y'vair immediately managed to get close enough to use their ranged weapons on the vulnerable parts - especially the eyes.  
  
The panther prudently didn't try to attack, but stood warily by John's side in case anything happened.  
  
Eventually the dragon's struggles weakened from the onslaught, then it raised its head for a last, soundless despairing roar at the sky and stilled, the head hitting the ground on its side like any slab of meat. Unfortunately, the movement of the dragon when it tilted into a supine state of death caused one of the legs to jerk back, and another pillar fell. Most of the slabs hit the dragon's carcass, but one smaller one glanced off a knight and knocked him and the horse down. The knight fell with a loud clatter, and his brother knights went to help him up - from the way he limped, he had a broken leg, and a sheepish expression. The horse seemed all right.the injury was rather pointless, after the 'battle' had been waged.  
  
All of them glanced at each other - then, fittingly, the spell wore off, and sound poured into the dead silence nearly joyously. Arundel laughed suddenly, a coughing spurt of mirth, and waved his sword in the air. "And that, is how you kill a dragon without getting squashed like the bugs we are to it. How would you know.it worked!"  
  
"You mean you weren't sure?" Bayer raised his visor.  
  
"I was fairly sure it would.but nothing is ever certain," Arundel bowed. "Now, when the dwarves finish I told them to come here and meet us - the smoke hasn't cleared yet, in the cavern, so they shouldn't enter it. Now, Bayer, about the 'donation' to the Order that I'd make to you for helping us."  
  
Still exhilarated, the rest chattered amiably to themselves or watched Bayer argue with Arundel. Eventually they came to a conclusion - next to the bulk of the lifeless head, and clasped hands.  
  
John sat down next to Y'vair, not really believing the enormity of what they'd accomplished. A dragon.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it?" Yoshimo remarked.  
  
"A very logical way of killing dragons," Entreri agreed.  
  
Eventually the dwarves appeared, and they counted their losses. Some dwarves were injured - but none fatally - apparently when they'd gotten in; they'd met the Rakshasha immediately. Clurgan described how the tiger- headed monster had attempted to teleport away but couldn't, 'on accounta the fact that we hit it with three throwin' axes, see'. Once the Rakshasha had fallen, so had the morale of the hobgoblins.  
  
When asked whether there had been traps in that area - Clurgan shook his shaggy head. "Who'd put traps in their livin' quarters?"  
  
The injured were taken back to camp by horse, and Arundel said that everyone should wait for the smoke to dissipate first. At that point the dwarven clerics asked why they couldn't use the spell Zone of Sweet Air to clear the fumes, and Arundel looked sheepish - one of his common expressions.  
  
The elemental had already been unsummoned, when they entered the cave cautiously. There were probably no traps, but Entreri and Yoshimo moved slightly ahead of the group just in case. They rounded a corner in the large passageway out, and came face-to-face with the dragon's hoard.  
  
John had never seen that much gold before.  
  
"By Helm!" Bayer said in stunned fervor. The hoard was mainly an immense heap of gold coins, which could probably fill at least a good-sized hall from ground to ceiling. There were quite a few jewels studding it like so many angular flowers - the dragon Firkaag seemed to have been partial to rubies and emeralds.  
  
Weapons - no doubt magical - had been neatly stacked in sight of the hoard, along with some artifacts on a golden table - including suits of armor, wands, and necklaces. Y'vair pointed at one of the necklaces - identifying it in hushed tones as the Dark Sighing, before handing it to Entreri. The silence of the glittering cavern was getting to everyone - the hollow emptiness of it all, where recent - and centuries-old scars of claws and scorching on the unnervingly smooth walls were all that remained - other than the body outside - of the dragon.  
  
Instead of the chaos that John had been expecting, the division of the gold was quite orderly - probably because it was magical, or scientific, or whatever Arundel used to cause large sections of gold to disappear when he thumbed a device on a switch and caused blue light to fall over said sections. He said that it caused the gold to teleport itself into pre-designated areas - and the knights and dwarves nodded, as if they'd seen it before. It was probably true in the case of the dwarves, and Arundel did not appear as the sort to break his word, oddly enough. However, he insisted on projecting images to show them he had kept his word - carefully, as though he feared that they doubted him. Insecurity, perhaps?  
  
In the dwarves' case - the gold had appeared in a large hall, and other dwarves in the image were wading in it, looking stunned. They nodded at the dwarves with them, and both sides spoke in dwarvish for a while.  
  
"That's the Ironhammer hall, true enough," Clurgan grunted at last. "I thank ye, elf."  
  
Arundel nodded, and pressed a button. The image was replaced by an image of the Hall of the Radiant Heart. The knights in it looked just as stunned - suddenly being knee-deep in a king's ransom tends to do that to people - Bayer spoke to them for a while.  
  
"It is the Hall," Bayer smiled at Arundel. "Thanks."  
  
"We agreed on it," Arundel nodded, and turned off the image.  
  
Eventually the last section of gold disappeared, and the cavern seemed a lot emptier. The dwarves and knights left, leaving the armor.  
  
"Here," Arundel handed them some extremely heavy bags of gold which they had to give to Entreri to put inside wherever his collar secreted things. "That's your share. Thanks - the weapons and such are a bonus.except for this one."  
  
He walked over quickly and picked up a broadsword, the blade dull black that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Rubies as red as those on the golems adorned the hilt, and an especially fine fire opal sat on the pommel. As Arundel picked up the sword, the hilt glowed pale green for a moment, and the elf sighed, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. Disdainfully, he drew his current broadsword and threw it away from him with a clatter, and sheathed the black sword.  
  
"Today is such a beautiful day," he grinned, his voice echoing.  
  
Y'vair chuckled, then got around to carefully identifying the weapons and artifacts - some with the help of identification scrolls Arundel provided. Apparently the scrolls projected images of what the objects could do into the mage's mind - useful when trying to see if it were cursed or not.  
  
"Here's the Firetooth dagger for you," Y'vair handed John a dagger with one jagged side, the blade a flushed light red. "It returns to your hand when you throw it - and deals fire damage. Hmm.the dragon didn't think of stocking mage robes."  
  
"It can hardly wear those," Yoshimo murmured.  
  
"Maybe it's the draconic equivalent of dollhouses. You can wear these sets of armor though." Y'vair chuckled. "Hmm.do you mind wearing chain mail?"  
  
Yoshimo shuddered.  
  
"All right, all right.there are two sets of leather armor here. Both are called Aeger's Hides for some reason - the identify scroll could only tell me that it's been reinforced in a way to protect against arrows and missiles. The other sets of armor, we could probably sell. Amazing, how there's so much magical material here." Y'vair's eyes were bright. "There's a short bow here called Vyer's Eye.apparently it's more accurate, though I've no idea why. I suppose you may find out." She handed the bow she'd picked up to Yoshimo.  
  
"More accurate?" Yoshimo fingered the silk string. "Interesting.it's not cursed, is it?"  
  
Y'vair gave him a Look. Yoshimo grinned sheepishly. "Only asking."  
  
Eventually, Y'vair chose a short sword which supposedly aided spellcasting, which John noted had a rather valuable hilt that seemed to have been carved totally out of a single dark emerald. Entreri wordlessly took two ugly-looking, serrated edge daggers that gave a degree of magical resistance, but he did not wear the scabbards - merely putting them into his collar's dimension.  
  
"Hmm. Would you consider using a falchion in place of your short sword?" Y'vair had picked up a weapon.  
  
"Why?" Entreri raised an eyebrow.  
  
"There's something to do with magical resistance in this falchion," Y'vair murmured thoughtfully, as she turned it around and around, as if fascinated. It was a weapon forged of a single piece of metal - of a uniform, ugly dull gray of a metal that rather resembled steel, that did not reflect light - not because it was unrefined and unpolished - but because it seemed to consume light. There were no decorations, and the scabbard was plain leather. "Identify doesn't seem to get much out of it - it's like the magic is falling into a vortex. That's the falchion's name, I think - Vortex."  
  
"And the catch is.?" John pressed, astonishing himself. He wasn't really interested, or rather, he told himself he wasn't interested - but there was this sheer enthusiasm involved from such guilty plunder of the dragon's centuries-old hoard that he was beginning to act like someone overdosed on Prozac.  
  
"You're an extremely cynical person, do you know?" Y'vair pouted at John theatrically. "Have you even considered the fact that there might not be a catch?"  
  
"Sorry." John held out his hands.  
  
"As it so happens, there is a catch, but.what are you two laughing at?" Y'vair glared at Yoshimo and Arundel. "Anyway, the catch is the magic resistance, whatever form it takes, has to be activated in some way, and I have no idea how to activate it."  
  
John was about to say something relating the weapon to a bloody science-fiction movie, but instead he found himself saying, "So how do we find out?" He found himself trying to stare at his mouth in surprise. What the f-  
  
Entreri shrugged, and touched his short sword - scabbard and all; it wavered and vanished - into the rather convenient collar. Then he put on the falchion's scabbard. "We'd find out."  
  
"Why are you still here?" John gave up trying to act normal, and addressed Arundel. Later he was going to have a long talk with his head. Maybe with a heavy rock.  
  
"I think I'd like to join your party," Arundel smiled a little hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure of the welcome. "There's nothing for me to do for now - and I believe it's possible we'd make money out of this. In which case, a share for me would be welcome."  
  
"Where did they take K'yanae?" Entreri demanded. "You have not."  
  
"Spellhold," Arundel said promptly. "It's the asylum for the magically deviant - that is to say, all mages who cast spells without first gilding the pockets of the Cowled Wizards. It's inside a well-defended fortress on the pirate island Brynnlaw, of which the exact location is not marked on any map. Only certain captains know of it - and frankly, I have no idea how you're going to find any."  
  
"Brynnlaw?" Yoshimo brightened. "Ah, I have friends that stay there - we could meet up with them. They might help."  
  
"As to reaching there.I suggest we return right now to Athkatla, sell all the loot, then meet this mutual mage friend of ours. K'yanae's father would probably have the resources to locate one of these captains." Y'vair said, with a sidelong glance at Entreri, who didn't notice.  
  
"Maybe he could provide an army too, if you wish to actually enter the fortress," John pointed out sourly. "Knowing this world - the fortress has monsters?"  
  
"Probably," Arundel said, poker-faced.  
  
"Too many traps?"  
  
"That's for sure."  
  
"And mages?"  
  
"Obviously."  
  
"Then we're not going there without some form of backup," John folded his arms. Entreri looked as though he wished to protest, but kept silent.  
  
"That might not be politically feasible, sparrow," Y'vair said dryly, "Zaknafein is one of the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate. This might be tantamount to an invasion of a neighbor. We'd have to wait and see."  
  
"I hate that phrase," John muttered, longing for some alcohol. If he were drunk, this would probably be a lot clearer. And that new voice in his head that kept trying to make him charge blindly into fortresses, dragons' caves, mighty battles and all such suicidal absurdities might just be drowned.  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
How to kill a dragon: Er yes - I made this up when thinking along the lines of 'How a chaotic neutral party would kill a dragon without anyone getting hurt'. Good-aligned people would, of course, charge in to fight it 'fairly', ignoring the traps, the fact that the dragon's a hundred times bigger than themselves, and so on. Evil-aligned people.perhaps like Edwin in BG II, would just run away, or try trickery or something. Um. However, this is certainly the way that people who adore their skin would fight a dragon. Yes, it's more costly than say, getting all the knights and the party to charge without any plans, but put it this way: no one likes to be fried. 


	12. What's he like?

Chapter 10  
  
What's he like?  
  
Synchronicity, for some unexplained reason, decided to work on Arundel and the golem, depositing the party in sight of a forest clearing, right in the middle of nowhere, unless one counted the group of ten drow at the other side of the clearing. There was one of those frozen moments as both sides stared at each other, then Yoshimo reacted first, bowstring thrumming as he notched and loosed an arrow in a fluid move.  
  
To their astonishment, the arrow disappeared once it left his hands. The thief stared at the bow, then began to turn to question Y'vair - but a strangled gurgle from the drow side caused him to hesitate. The arrow had reappeared - buried in the exact centre of the priestess' throat. She clawed at it desperately, grasping hold of the thin shaft, fell back against a tree, then collapsed, still twitching.  
  
This time, the drow reacted first, shouting out what sounded like a warcry, and raised their hands, flicking up something small and metallic.  
  
"Behind the trees!" Entreri yanked John, the closest, behind a goodly- sized oak, as the rest took cover and none too soon - with a spiteful buzz, a tiny bolt shot past them, where John had been standing, to bury itself into another tree. John mumbled thanks to the werewolf as he held Firetooth, the hilt warm in his sweating palms - but Entreri had gone. Minutes later, a lupine growl and a feline snarl spiced with screams signaled that the dark elves had encountered the panther and the werewolf. Heavy tread through undergrowth could be heard, and John belatedly realized the golem had charged - Arundel himself unhooked his crossbow from his belt, cocked it deftly, then stepped lightly out of cover, firing. Something ricocheted off his armor with a ringing sound, and barely missed John's nose.  
  
A tiny bolt, shaft still quivering, buried itself into the tree next to him.  
  
This had the net effect of shocking his muscles into motion, and he looked cautiously out from behind his tree.  
  
By the looks of it, the drow were not having a good day. Two were down, not counting the dead priestess, and the rest had been harried into the clearing, where Yoshimo and Arundel were using them as target practice. This didn't really sound like the advantage it did - the elves moved incredibly fast, and the two had to avoid hitting Entreri and the panther as well.Entreri had, for some reason, resumed his human shape, and was fighting three warriors at one go, aided by the cat. The mage looked somewhat wild around the eyes as his spells dissipated around the golem, and as John watched, the thing sprang forward, all impossible grace and speed, and smashed in the mage's skull with heavy front hooves. The remaining two were harassing Y'vair, so John aimed and threw Firetooth, the hot taste of adrenaline in his throat. He felt the odd urge to shout something suitably savage.  
  
Bloody hell. He really needed some sort of sedative, if this mood was going to be permanent.  
  
The dagger flared red as it spun through the air, into the head of one of the drow - then vanished and reappeared in front of John. Since he hadn't been expecting this, he didn't catch it, and it fell point-first into the ground, nearly impaling his foot. Muttering about magic items, John philosophically fished his sling from his pocket, in time to see Y'vair manipulate the warrior until his back was facing Arundel. As it turned out, full-plate armor really can't withstand a crossbow bolt.  
  
The party of ten, by this time, had but one left - a warrior, rather good, by John's critical eye as he recovered his dagger - coolly engaging Entreri. The assassin had been cut in some places, but he seemed to ignore the wounds, teeth bared in a soundless snarl as he dodged and parried, ducked low, and slashed viciously at the warrior's kneecaps, with what looked like unnecessary force.  
  
Abruptly there wasn't so much as a change in the sound of the area as a sudden feel in the air, like a muted sonic crackle, and a circular void appeared directly between Entreri and the warrior, who seemed to freeze into place as the blue-edged black circle roared hollowly in their ears, and yet appeared to make no sound.  
  
Entreri recovered from his follow-through with what resembled nearly superhuman effort, as if he had to drag his weapon forward through treacle, and then the sword sliced through the void. After that, events got rather crowded.  
  
John later remembered it (especially late at night) as a sequence, because it made his head ache less. The void had flickered and disappeared, and then an invisible wave of force had flattened out on the ground, ripping up grass and soil, picking up Entreri, the panther, and Y'vair, and flinging them away like puppets. Trees directly in front of the void immediately disappeared, as did the warrior, simply blasted into nothingness by the tightly channeled force - quite a few trees. A boulevard several metres wide was blasted open, and went on for some distance.  
  
Bloody hell!  
  
John, mouth dry, picked himself up from where he had been knocked down by the force of the blast, and looked shakily around. The golem was still standing, but Arundel was down and staring up at the sky, cursing colorfully. One ankle was bent in a painful and unnatural angle - possibly broken. Y'vair stood up from some bushes, wincing as she picked leaves from her hair, and a wet nose pushed into his trousers alerted him to the fact that the panther was all right. Yoshimo was staring at Entreri's sword with stunned awe, and the assassin was thoughtfully studying Vortex from where he was sitting down, knocked against a tree.  
  
Having taken this inventory, and forcing down the urge to cheerfully inquire if everyone was all right, John rummaged in his pockets, found and lit a cigarette.  
  
"Never knew adventuring could be such a blast. Warn us next time, mate."  
  
"Gods." Y'vair blinked, rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. "I wonder if that's what it meant by magic resistance."  
  
"Blowing away the mage before the poor sod can cast anything?"  
  
"It's highly effective, sparrow," Y'vair said, poker-faced. "Sometimes, when mages realize their spells aren't working, their next move is to hit the victim repeatedly with a staff. Why do you think those poles are so bulky?" She stumbled over to Arundel and glanced at the ankle. "Damn. Can you get up?"  
  
"Theoretically," Arundel said, squeezing his eyes shut, "Except that getting up when one is in full plate armor is always a little difficult. Can you ask me again when the world stops spinning?"  
  
A rustling sound told John that Entreri had gotten up, and the assassin sheathed the sword reverently. His ascetic, handsome face suddenly broke into a taut grin. "By the gods, that was fun."  
  
"Fun?" Yoshimo's voice was slightly shrill. "What if one of us had been standing somewhere in front of you?"  
  
"But none of us had been," Entreri pointed out logically. "I'd try not to do it next time."  
  
"Next time?"  
  
"I think a vortex is created when the sword's swung back with some force," Entreri continued, oblivious to the sputtering thief. "Quite interesting. I wonder what would have happened if I didn't slash through it?" Yoshimo rolled his eyes, then went about retrieving his arrows carefully. As an afterthought, he picked up all the still serviceable crossbow bolts as well.  
  
Y'vair looked up with a pained expression, as she probed Arundel's ankle. John helped her remove some of the metal gear, muttering as his fingers began to complain loudly. Why did paladins have to wear metal boots? Metal trousers, metal gloves, metal breastplate, metal greaves, backplate, helmet.it was amazing those turtles could even move. "Don't experiment too much, assassin. For all you know, it might blow us all up." She glanced down as the elf whimpered. "Stop being a baby."  
  
"Me? A baby?" Arundel put on a scandalized expression. "Just because it feels like someone is trying to mold my ankle into some grotesque sculpture.ow! Ow! Watch where you're putting your clumsy fingers! And it's going to take me forever to will my armor back into shape."  
  
"Imagine that. The first elf I've ever met who actually whines." Y'vair winked at John. "Mark down this day, sparrow. It's a milestone in civilization as we know it."  
  
"I do not whine!"  
  
**  
  
They got to Athkatla just before the gates closed for the night, and managed to sell off most of the loot, except for those see-in-sunlight circlets that the drow had, which were currently just twisted pieces of metal stomped into the ground a ways outside the city. No one seemed to notice the golem - or if they were of enough power to see it, Arundel explained, they'd only see a normal horse. A temple had taken care of the twisted ankle - it was amazing what healing spells could do.  
  
The Copper Coronet was in a greater state of order now - the bodies had been cleared, the knights and children had gone, and Bernard, the barkeeper, was studiously polishing the counter. Hendak was nowhere to be seen, but other than that, the building was still extremely noisy and rather crowded. Realizing their 'discount' from association with Hendak was still in effect, they managed to get beds for the night - one per person, even, after they partook of some of the greasy roast for dinner. The stairs didn't even creak when the golem trotted up them - apparently it was levitating slightly.  
  
After shaving and taking a bath, John lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to mice behind the paneling squeak nervously as they smelled the panther, but couldn't see it. For its part, the cat was sprawled on the carpet, purring to itself.  
  
This world was getting very unnerving. Compulsions to say and do things that under normal circumstances he wouldn't even consider doing even if the First of the Fallen were to blackmail him into it.that odd sensation of a fight having taken place when he woke up from sleep. And too many things were trying to kill him, but in retrospect, this was practically normal.  
  
He turned his head idly. Firetooth was under the pillow - another peculiarity. On Earth, he couldn't remember the last time he actually attempted to wield a weapon for what a weapon was actually made for, unless he counted the time that he tried to drive off lesser demons from the Hellish stock market with a sword. Fat lot of good that had done - the demons had merely turned the sword into a dollar sign. Ha, ha.  
  
And what was he trying to do? Chasing after a magician so much more powerful than he was - no, that wasn't too strange - he'd gone against things that could, if they wanted to, obliterate him with a thought before. But just that, this time, he was doing it without a plan, and for the life of him he couldn't think of anything to do about it. Maybe it was this bloody world, trying to gear the party into one of those Famous Last Stands, so named because, after it, the party was likely to be lying down stone dead. But the magician Irenicus was probably the one who'd brought him here, and blocked up the link to the Dreaming - he didn't even have normal dreams anymore, so finding him should.  
  
Hmph. On Earth, he would have been able to find out how to get 'back' himself, bugger Irenicus. Given enough time, he could find anything (except, of course, things about Jason Blood). But this world was magically more unstable - even if its magic seemed a lot more constrained by rules. Lord knew what would happen if he attempted to tinker with things like demon summoning.  
  
He had to rely on himself, but if even synchronicity was working at bugger-all efficiency, what about the trickier sorts of magic? On this world, he had no favors to call in, no connections...and his books were probably at least a galaxy away.  
  
The sense of displacement was severely daunting.  
  
Not for the first time in his life, John had no idea whatsoever as to how to proceed.  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
The door creaked open, and he immediately stuck his hand under his pillow, groping for the knife, as the panther rose to its feet with a growl. John realized belatedly why it was never a good idea to reach for sharp weapons without looking where one put his fingers. The cat settled back down with a purr of recognition, and then began to lick one of its massive paws.  
  
He sucked on the shallow cut on his finger, grimacing slightly at the coppery taste of blood, as Y'vair entered the door and closed it behind her. The panther sniffed, seemed to blink, cocked its head to one side, then padded up towards the door, where after it patted the wood a few times, Y'vair got the hint and let it out. John raised an eyebrow as the bard sat down next to him on the bed.  
  
He realized belatedly that she was only dressed in a plain white robe that had somehow become more...loose.  
  
"There's a problem I believe you're qualified to help me with, sparrow," Y'vair leant forward slightly, and smiled.  
  
"Oh?" John took his finger out of his mouth to get a better view. Blood welled up again; dull crimson on callused skin.  
  
"It has to do with our.predicament. Hasn't it gone on long enough?" So saying, Y'vair gently but firmly took his wrist, and licked the blood away slowly, swirling her pink tongue around it in a way that made his breathing quicken.  
  
"If you put it that way, luv."  
  
**  
  
As the sun rose into later in the morning the party wandered around buying supplies, then Arundel took them to the mage's house. "We'd speak to K'yanae's father, then I have a friend we'd probably have to meet, if we want to get to Brynnlaw."  
  
John shrugged. Last night had been very interesting, and this morning the panther's expression had been one of almost-amusement and almost-curiosity, oddly enough, as though it had vaguely expected this to happen, but when it did, it was still mildly bewildered. Yoshimo said that the cat had chosen to go sleep on the carpet in his room and shot John a look of curiosity, but however the cat had sensed that Y'vair was going to do something, John had absolutely no idea.  
  
"You have it!" the mage exclaimed eagerly when all of them were crowded into his living room, fingers trembling as they took the Dark Sighing from Entreri and put it on. "At last."  
  
"Your promise, friend," Entreri said, stressing on the last word, somehow emphasizing that, if Entreri really wanted to, the status of 'friend' could change to 'dead foe'. The assassin was positively vibrating with suppressed energy today. Any moment now, John half-expected him to start bouncing off the walls.  
  
"Of course, of course.this way please. And Arundel, it's wonderful to see you again."  
  
"And you," Arundel grinned. "Though we have to work on your idea of passwords."  
  
The mage grinned sheepishly as he led them upstairs - though the golem stayed in the living room, unmoving as a statue. The furnishing of the rest of the house was almost Spartan, and the room they were led into was totally bare except for a large full-length mirror fixed to a wall, the frame plain metal, totally unadorned. On a first glance, John wouldn't even have given it a thought.  
  
Arundel's mage friend touched the Dark Sighing as if for reassurance, then began to chant in a sonorous voice, fingers weaving abstract designs into the air while Entreri walked in a tight circle. "I wonder if the mirror can scry K'yanae."  
  
"If she's in Spellhold, I'd advise against it," Arundel said, "Gods know what sort of wards they have against scrying, there."  
  
"The Citadel has wards as well," Entreri pointed out.  
  
"Ah, but our mage friend is doing something like 'knocking'. The Spellhold may not even recognize it.and I doubt you want to be in the midst of an expanding fireball."  
  
"Quiet, you two," Y'vair said, pointing. Their reflection in the mirror wavered, and then coalesced to show a room that was more richly furnished than this one. John hadn't seen that many wands in one place before. There were two mages in the room, one female, and one male, who stared at them warily, looking at each of their faces before settling on Entreri. Arundel's friend seemed relieved. Apparently the Dark Sighing had worked after all - there wasn't any sort of magical retribution from the Cowled Wizards.  
  
The assassin inclined his head to them. "May we speak to your master Duke Do'Urden? It concerns the location of the Lady K'yanae."  
  
The mages held a whispered conversation, and then the female left the room. Once the door closed, the remaining mage spoke tentatively. "Where is she? The collar broke contact some time ago, and we haven't been able to locate her since.remote sensing told us she wasn't anywhere near you. The family's very worried.and Namaen's gone as well."  
  
Something clicked in John's head - this mage spoke as though K'yanae was a relative, and though human, he had amber eyes.werewolf? Did this explain Entreri's sudden formality?  
  
"It is precisely because of that which I have to speak with the Duke." Entreri said stiffly. John got the idea that he didn't particularly like the 'family'.but why that was so, John really didn't bother. They were saved from this awkward moment when the door practically flew open to reveal a dark elf dressed in chain mail armor, cloak negligently buckled on at one shoulder, the clasp and surcoat sporting a design of a black talon, the same symbol, John noted, emblazoned on the robes of the mages. He was armed, and superbly muscled, moving with the grace and confidence of a trained warrior.  
  
Behind him was a woman with gorgeous auburn hair, but other than that, unremarkable features, dressed in a plain but well made blue dress that hugged the hips but flowed down to the ankles. Both the dark elf and the women had amber eyes - John surmised that these two were Zaknafein and Neira, K'yanae's parents.  
  
"Where is she?" Zaknafein began by demanding. "And who are these people?"  
  
After the situation had been explained, Zaknafein's face seemed to shut down into some sort of icy fury that seemed more dangerous than Entreri could ever be, rather like a tightly coiled spring about to unwind all at once, if it had the chance. The party had mentioned the fact that Namaen was dead - something that caused several amber-eyed soldiers at the doorway to hiss in anger. Looking around tentatively, John realized that all his companions were staring at the dark elf with a sense of awe, as they would in the presence of a living legend. After having had Zaknafein's exploits explained to him beforehand, John could understand why.  
  
"I see," he said, each word a growl. "Brynnlaw." He turned on the curious soldiers lining the doorway outside. "You! Find Vorkai and send the fox here. He should still be in the Citadel - his ship sails only tomorrow." As the soldier saluted and left, Zaknafein seemed to study their faces, his piercing eyes unreadable. They stopped on the panther, and he blinked.  
  
"Guenhwyvar?"  
  
The panther yawned at him, then rubbed against John's legs. Zaknafein frowned, then seemed to shrug the fact off as unimportant. Perhaps the panther had an alternate personality here?  
  
"What will we do?" Neira asked quietly.  
  
Zaknafein chewed his lip absently. "Send in a chosen force and take her out sounds attractive, though sneaking Talons past Athkatla borders would be chancy."  
  
"If they don't wear the uniforms." Entreri ventured.  
  
"Oh. Congratulations," Zaknafein made a gesture at his throat, where a collar similar to Entreri's was worn.  
  
Entreri smiled slightly, a thin, cold smile. "Perhaps."  
  
"You'd control it in time," Neira said encouragingly. At this point of time, a tall, stooped man with cynical blue eyes entered the room, and bowed respectfully. "Your Grace?"  
  
"No time for that," Zaknafein said, a little hastily. "What do you know of Brynnlaw?"  
  
"The pirate island?"  
  
"So you know how to get there?"  
  
"No." The man, probably Vorkai, raised a hand when Zaknafein opened his mouth. "I know of it - island in the middle of an area that generates tropical storms and has hidden reefs. Charming place, if you ignore those, the occasional githyanki that are supposed to be in the area, and the other pirates. I can't remember the leader's name at the moment - pirate politics are vicious and chaotic - but he'd be in league with the Cowled Wizards that run the Spellhold deep in the island. It's supposedly an impenetrable fortress - all the ways in are hopelessly warded, and it's a maximum security prison with no parole."  
  
Zaknafein grimaced. "So sieging the place is not a good idea?"  
  
"Definitely not, unless you wish to lose a large number of Talons," Vorkai looked curious as to why he was being asked about this. "And the Wizards are allied with Athkatla authority, so politically."  
  
"Hmph. I can't sit an army at the border and demand they give up one of their prisoners?"  
  
"They won't do it," Vorkai said, "There are a lot of Cowled wizards, and they're a very rich arcane order - they could buy the mercenaries needed to match our numbers, if they needed to. That's why they can afford to be based in Athkatla. Besides, they want to keep the image of Spellhold as a no-way-out place, to intimidate all the mages they extract blood money from. I've been to Athkatla several times before - and I hate that place."  
  
Zaknafein sighed. "Can 'adventurers' land on the island, then?"  
  
"Possibly, but too large a group would arouse comment - and the Wizards are very good at getting information." Vorkai grimaced. "Trust me on this. It'd be better to place people there who have no connection to the Talons at all, if you're planning on sneaking Lady K'yanae out of Spellhold."  
  
There was a strained pause.  
  
"Very quick," Zaknafein said grudgingly. Vorkai smiled slightly.  
  
"A stupid pirate is a dead pirate, your Grace."  
  
"Do you know anything else about Spellhold? Like where the prisoners are kept, how." Entreri spoke up.  
  
"No," Vorkai said immediately. "Spellhold's location itself is a rather closely-guarded secret - only pirates, Cowled wizards, and a few others know of it. I have no idea where Brynnlaw itself is on a map - just a general idea of where it should be in the Pirate Isles."  
  
"I can get us there," Arundel spoke up. "I know someone who might be able to put a certain captain in our way."  
  
"And that captain is?" Vorkai asked professionally.  
  
"Saemon Havarian. Perhaps you've heard of it."  
  
Vorkai blinked. "Are you sure you want to use him?"  
  
"What about it?" Zaknafein asked suspiciously.  
  
"He's a famous.infamous, I should think." Vorkai made a face. "He's adventurous, daring, mischievous, and a total scoundrel."  
  
"This? From you?" Neira grinned.  
  
"He'd be easy to bribe - but if he gets a better offer, he'd sell you to anyone. If you can find him."  
  
"We should be," Arundel nodded.  
  
"Right," Zaknafein said decisively. "Entreri, you take your party with you and reach Brynnlaw. We'd give you something for you to use to contact us once you're there." he stared pointedly at the mages until one of them bowed, grinned and left. "And then you wait there while we come for you, and scout around. Do not try to enter the fortress itself until we get a location point on you - getting killed would not be helpful, or any heroic stunts, understand?"  
  
Entreri bowed without comment, accepting the command even if John doubted that the assassin was actually under Zaknafein's jurisdiction.  
  
"After that, I damn well don't believe Black Talon's finest can't do anything about extracting my daughter.or that enough of Talon mages can't destroy this Irenicus.I'd lead them myself. We'd continue searching up information on this Spellhold here and on this Irenicus until you give us the signal. Good luck. Do you need money?" Zaknafein's manner was brusque, curt with anticipation.  
  
Entreri looked to Arundel.  
  
The elf shook his head. "You can always pay us back," he said mischievously. "If we have to bribe people."  
  
Zaknafein nodded impatiently. "Anything else, then?"  
  
John decided, in the face of matters, not to raise the question whether he really wanted to go and invade a fortress full of mages on an island full of pirates. Y'vair shot him a faint smile, and Yoshimo, a slight shrug. There wasn't anything else they could do, at the moment, except allow themselves to be swept along.  
  
Entreri exchanged a few more vague courtesies with Neira - and one of the mages returned with a small box.  
  
"Magical flare," Zaknafein explained. "I have no idea how it works, so long as it does." He raised an eyebrow at the mages, who grinned at him, then began murmuring in unison.  
  
"Hold out your hand," one of them instructed Entreri, who complied. The box - a cube that could be easily concealed in a palm - disappeared abruptly and after a few seconds, reappeared on Entreri's hand.  
  
"When you want to use it, there's a ruby on the lid and two sapphires on either side. You have to press down all three at once," one of the mages instructed. "And don't put it in the collar. The dimensional flux there seems to ruin the box."  
  
"Is it fragile?" Entreri turned the box over, examining it curiously.  
  
"Not really.just don't put in the way of a strong magical blast. Oh, and don't soak it in water. One of the components melt in water."  
  
Entreri nodded, and put it away.  
  
"Go, then," Zaknafein waved a hand in dismissal, and the reflection blurred back to that which one sees in a conventional mirror.  
  
**  
  
"What's he like?" Y'vair asked Entreri when the party walked out of the building. "Zaknafein, I mean."  
  
"Him?" Entreri rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "Very, very intelligent, a master strategist, intuitive, cunning, calculated - under him the Talons expanded from a small group of about a hundred or so to the power it is today. And of course, he is the finest warrior I've ever met."  
  
"Fought him before?" John inquired, not really out of curiosity.or maybe it was. There was something very compelling about the dark elf.  
  
"Yes," Entreri made a face. "Sometimes my hip still aches in cold weather. He moves like a snake, and if you add that to the werewolf strength, his sword Khazid'hea and the centuries of experience."  
  
"I've heard he follows no god," Arundel said, his demeanor casual, almost artificially so.  
  
"That is true. He does follow a higher authority though.higher than the Gods, I believe," Entreri remarked. "K'yanae called them Asur, and Zaknafein is their representative here."  
  
"Higher than the Gods? How is that possible?" Arundel's eyes widened.  
  
"I have no idea," Entreri admitted. "I didn't really understand K'yanae when she was explaining it to me. We were a little.distracted at that time." He smiled suddenly. "Very much so."  
  
"Ah." Yoshimo said diplomatically before John could say something potentially disastrous about this revelation. "Someone once told me he didn't like being one of the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate."  
  
"That's true as well," Entreri agreed. "K'yanae said that Neira had to coerce him into doing it."  
  
"Didn't strike me like the type who could be coerced," John observed.  
  
"Normally, no.but Neira is his mate, and by werewolf law, his equal, and he's obliged to listen to her, out of respect, if nothing else. That doesn't mean he has to obey her, but Zaknafein values her opinion greatly. They are the best of friends, something which I still cannot come to terms with." Entreri paused. "He is not.the easiest person in the world to get along with."  
  
John noticed that 'the best of friends' did not seem as though K'yanae's parents loved each other. Frankly, he didn't care. And since Entreri did not seem inclined to pursue this topic of conversation any longer, he decided to change the subject. "Arundel, where are you taking us?"  
  
" To a nice little place at the Bridge district," Arundel replied, "Where we'd find my contact." He hesitated. "Do any of you object towards people who are of another.sexual persuasion?"  
  
"Depends on which sort," Y'vair said casually. "I cannot stand people who enjoy little children in that way."  
  
"No, no, nothing of that sort," Arundel said quickly. "This friend of mind likes other young men, and I've found some people absolutely loathe the idea."  
  
"I've had some friends of that.'persuasion'," John shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."  
  
"Same," Y'vair conceded. "So long as what he's doing has no harm in it, it's his business, not mine."  
  
"The.wolf thinks it is a highly unnatural idea, but I've met people of that inclination before. Usually terminally," Entreri said, with a grim smile, when Arundel looked to him. "I do not care."  
  
Yoshimo chuckled. "Where I come from, anyone who was of this persuasion would have been tortured to death. I am more liberal."  
  
"After this painstaking assessment, are you going to take us there now?" John asked sarcastically. "Or are you going to ask more questions? I passed my orals in school, mate, and I don't need to repeat the experience."  
  
Arundel smiled a little nervously.  
  
"There is.one more thing I must tell you."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"He is my.lover."  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
Vortex: The concept for this was derived from hours of Japanese Anime, namely, Rurouni Kenshin. In the last fight with Shishio Makoto, Kenshin's backlash of Hiten Mitsuruugi (however you spell this), somehow created a vortex by the sheer strength of it, something not possible, if you take into account how scrawny Kenshin is. He did not use it to blast things into bits, but the vortex froze Shishio into place just long enough for Kenshin to hit him, and hit him good.  
  
Homosexuality: I declare that this is the fault of the Drowfic list. The recent torrent of yaoi pairings has influenced my horribly malleable writing ideas. However, the only pairing of that sort in this entire 'fic will only be Arundel and his friend. 


	13. Interlude

Interlude  
  
Morikan sighed as he took a dragon token off the playing board, which had been forged of silver and oddly tinted red. Tiny little rubies glinted in the place of eyes.  
  
"Playing both sides is extremely unorthodox, brother," Shoshuna smiled at him. "And it means you will never win - or lose, at that."  
  
"I am supposed to be neutral, sister," Morikan snapped his fingers. The dragon token disappeared. The look he gave one of the tokens on the board - a human dressed in a trenchcoat, smoking a cigarette - was strangely smug. Around it were two tokens that seemed to be somewhat insubstantial - the blurred outlines and the transparent quality gave them a sense of unearthliness, of pure magic - both were intrinsically different, and yet inherently alike.  
  
"There's no use trying to persuade him, sister," N'avsh advised with a wicked smile, "You know what they say about dragons."  
  
"What do they say about dragons?" Morikan demanded suspiciously, glancing up sharply.  
  
"Oh, nothing." N'avsh said innocently. Morikan glared at her, but it is a well-known universal fact that no one could outstare a feline, except possibly a basilisk, so he looked away, ostensibly because he lost interest.  
  
"Hat'yet, it's your turn to roll the dice," Shoshuna passed the dice to Hat'yet, who accepted them with reptilian grace.  
  
The dice clattered onto the playing table.  
  
"Hmph," Hat'yet snorted. "A bad throw."  
  
"Rykvaz, yours." Shoshuna nodded, and the dice appeared Rykvaz, who caught and threw with practiced ease. He eyed the result thoughtfully.  
  
"Ah." Rykvaz smiled slightly, as Hat'yet sighed.  
  
"Well, it's not that high that you lose your playing piece, brother," GrayWolf told Hat'yet, rather unnecessarily, with a wide grin on his face. "Though it's possible, and you still have to make several life-rolls, inertia modes and some scalar quantifiers." He was feeling better towards having lost some of his own tokens.  
  
"Quite." Hat'yet said curtly, placing an ominous-looking, heart- shaped marker carved from black obsidian streaked with red next to a token of a humanoid female sporting ram's horns and a slender lion's tail. "Do not rejoice this early, brother. You soon have a life-roll to throw, as well."  
  
"Yes, well.what harm can come of it?"  
  
"The last I heard thee speak such words, brother, thou didst lose all thy tokens," Belnarath said sonorously, with a totally straight face.  
  
"Why brother! You might actually be developing a sense of humor!" N'avsh's eyes sparkled, as GrayWolf sputtered.  
  
"'Tis a failing one hath observed in oneself - perhaps the fault of my brethren," Belnarath replied, still poker-faced.  
  
"All right, all right," Shoshuna broke in before the World-Makers decided to engage in yet another of their eons-long debates (read: arguments). "It's GrayWolf's turn."  
  
GrayWolf threw the dice, and grinned at the results. "My token gets unharmed for the next round."  
  
"Yes, but it's not the life-throw yet," Hat'yet muttered.  
  
"Oh, don't tell him," N'avsh smirked. "It's so much more amusing when all his illusions come down at once. Don't break them slowly."  
  
"Always a pleasure playing with you, sister," GrayWolf stuck out his tongue at his relatives. 


	14. What's a holy symbol?

Chapter 11  
  
What's a holy symbol?  
  
Arundel led them into a house in the Bridge District that smelled strongly of dried fish, a slightly acrid odor that John found irritating. He realized he wasn't the only one - Entreri was surreptitiously attempting to breathe from his mouth, but judging by the distaste on his face, it wasn't really working - disadvantages of having a werewolf's nose in human form. With a rather wicked smirk, John wondered what would happen if the werewolf took in a deep breath of sulphur dioxide.  
  
The fish smell seemed to get stronger when everyone stepped into the house. John glumly hoped that it would not cling to his trenchcoat - but had the sinking feeling that, like everything else that adored going wrong in this world, it would. It was bad enough that his beloved garment was torn, though it was a mercy that Y'vair had the cleaning-spell, as it would have been a bugger to find a dry-clean shop here...  
  
The house appeared uninhabited, and the door had opened with a weary creaking, hinges groaning like an old man's bones. The elf carefully shut it behind them - and John heard the 'click' of a lock, even though there wasn't even a keyhole or a padlock on the knob - and they examined the rest of the room quickly. Dust coated everything in a thick layer - the poor man's blanket - and even the cobwebs looked tired, skeins of off-white, graying material that halfheartedly stuck to surfaces. The furniture that remained was mostly broken, and the windows murky with an apathetic shade of yellow grime. There were no more doors that remained inside - and from what John could see, all the other rooms were uninhabited, and there had been, judging from the undisturbed quality of the dust, no visitors for some time.  
  
"What are we here for?" he asked of Arundel. "Your friend can."  
  
"My friend can be found near this area," he said, stroking the mane of his golem. John noted that the elf always did this when feeling nervous.  
  
"Really? But the dust has not been disturbed." Yoshimo began. Arundel winked at him, and walked forward several steps. The dust neither rose into a flurry, as the party expected, nor did Arundel leave footprints.  
  
"It's illusion, mostly," Arundel explained, as the party cautiously stepped forward in fascination. "To make the authorities think this is an unused place. Look at the golem."  
  
Around its hooves, the illusion wavered, revealing at times a highly polished floor with many tiles of different colors set in a geometric pattern.  
  
"Not very clever," John muttered, sweeping his hand across what looked like a dust-covered, crumbling table. Not only did his hand go through the dust without raising it, he realized it went through the table as well. The entire set-up was illusion. He vaguely wondered what was so strange as to require such elaborate deception. "What if the 'authorities' decide to walk in? I haven't met any.policemen who could find their arses with both hands, but even they would notice if dust."  
  
Arundel shrugged. "Illusion and reality are quite easily switched, if you know how."  
  
With nothing else they could say to that, the party followed Arundel up a rotting stairway that looked so unsafe that John would never have used it willingly had he not seen that, under the golem's hooves, the stairway was solid marble. The floor upstairs appeared to be not so much a floor, as a wide-open space with tentative sections of rotting planking. John watched suspiciously as the golem mindlessly trotted over it all - and noted wryly that everyone except Arundel was closely studying the hooves. Again, geometric tiles appeared briefly when the metal hooves touched them.  
  
It was eerie stepping out onto empty space. John expected any moment to fall right through and bounce heavily, maybe breaking a few bones on the way.he kept telling himself grimly not to look down, not to look down - but of course, considering the perversity of his mind, he kept doing so, and promptly felt a disorienting wave of nausea. Beside him, the panther made a snuffling sound suspiciously like a chuckle, and John deliberately aimed a kick at it. It dodged, baring its teeth playfully, then ducked behind him and nudged John in the back of the knee joint. His legs promptly folded, and he hit the ground with an extremely undignified yelp, scrambling to his feet hurriedly and shooting the panther a glare to cover up the fact that he was devoutly thankful his bowels didn't react.  
  
Y'vair sighed.  
  
When they had covered about three quarters of the floor, Arundel suddenly reached out as though opening a door, though there was apparently just empty space in front of him. His wrist twisted, turning some unseen doorknob, and he pulled.  
  
A rectangle of flat gray light opened as Arundel swung his hand to his right. It was misty and rather translucent - vaguely, John could see the opposite wall through it. Arundel pushed his hand through with some effort, and the light seemed to ripple outwards from him, turning cyan, then turquoise, then it disappeared totally. Now there was no light at all - as if Arundel had never opened any invisible doors.  
  
Arundel grinned at them, obviously enjoying their startled faces, then he stepped forward - and vanished. The golem trotted mindlessly forward as well, following him, also disappearing. John shrugged unconsciously and took a tentative step forward.  
  
.and realized he'd entered what looked like a well-kept taproom of an inn. It smelled rather pleasantly of an unidentifiable scented wood, and though the lighting was dim, John's eyes adjusted quickly. There were several patrons quietly talking amongst themselves or just sitting alone at the neatly spaced tables, drinking. On closer inspection, half of the patrons didn't look human.  
  
He glanced sharply at Arundel, just as the rest of the party emerged from the odd portal. The elf, however, had headed off to the bar, and they had no choice but to follow. John looked back - behind them was not a door, but a solid wall of wood paneling.  
  
The barkeeper was industriously polishing the counter. He had a face so handsome as to be tentatively pretty, with brooding, deep brown eyes and a sensuous mouth, and his appearance, in contrast with the taproom, gave a sense of displacement. His ears rather resembled that of a deer's, and the resemblance extended to his head, where, from the mane of bay-brown hair emerged a pair of sharp stag's horns. He glanced quickly at them, then raised an eyebrow at Arundel, whose fingers seemed to twitch for a while, as though in some sort of nervous reaction, or, more likely - in some sort of language. The barkeeper shrugged.  
  
"This is my friend C'halhn." Arundel smiled nervously. "C'halhn - we have to speak to you elsewhere."  
  
"It would seem so," C'halhn said neutrally, his voice pleasant, though not remarkably so. They withdrew through a door near the counter into a dim chamber constructed from stone, an open arch set opposite them that led to yet another chamber which, by the look and smell of it, served as a kitchen. There was a staircase in their current area, and they went up it, John grimacing at the dangerous, weary creaking of the wood.  
  
Upstairs was a long, carpeted hall decorated in tired finery - the carpet was frayed, the antique tables scratched, the divan-pillows moth- eaten, heavy tassels battered-looking. The drooping, dried flowers in an intricately carved, huge vase of tarnished silver placed on the round table directly in line with the top of the stairway added to the image of forgotten decadence, as did the large gilt-framed portrait behind it, depicting a battlefield in fading colors. Dusty tapestries decorated the walls, the gems set into them dull, the fiery elegance of the stones in jeweler's windows totally leached away, and of the threads themselves, what had obviously once been vibrant hues had faded. Most of the tapestries also depicted battle, a rather gloomy, pointless theme, John thought, but he had never really seen the point of tapestries. It was like framing blankets.  
  
The hall was rectangular but not large - most of it served as a corridor between rooms with doors set in either wall. The place was dimly lit by candlelight by tarnished silver candlesticks that hung from the ceiling, something that seemed to John as rather dangerous - the walls were, like the taproom below, wood-paneled.  
  
"Yes, Arundel?" C'halhn stood next to the silver vase and folded his arms. His demeanor was amused and world-weary, though the way he pronounced Arundel's name - he breathed it, even - was the only thing that suggested a.relationship between the two. As was his custom whenever he met homosexuals, John wondered how the term 'faggot' came about - didn't it mean 'cigarette'? Sometimes the Queen's English was even more murky and incomprehensible than magical runes.  
  
"We are looking for Saemon Havarian," Arundel said, stroking his golem's mane again. Their manner was so restrained as to be totally artificial. "To reach Spellhold."  
  
"Spellhold?" C'halhn blinked. "I trust you have good reason for this?"  
  
"We have yet to decide on that," John muttered. Again, the annoying feeling of not being in control washed over him. He hated it.  
  
"Not getting hunted down and slowly flayed by Zaknafein is a good one," Yoshimo noted with a lopsided grin. Entreri chuckled hollowly - it sounded rather mechanical, in fact. John made a mental note to watch the werewolf for any signs of approaching insanity.the assassin's behavior was beginning to get on his nerves.  
  
"Ah, the Talons," C'halhn waved a hand dismissively. "Have you tangled yourself in their affairs as well?"  
  
"It wasn't my intention," Arundel winked at Entreri, who was now ostentatiously examining one of the tapestries.  
  
"As I remember, that was what you said when I asked you how you got yourself into a situation with a red dragon as your mortal enemy," C'halhn noted dryly. "In case you don't understand Common, that never answers any questions."  
  
"What can I say? Everyone loves interacting with me," Arundel said innocently.  
  
"He calls having mortal enemies 'interacting'?" John heard Yoshimo murmur softly.  
  
"I heard that," Arundel glared at the thief. Yoshimo grinned and opened his mouth to begin another sally.  
  
"Saemon Havarian has been involving himself in the Thief Guild war here," C'halhn interrupted, "You might be hard put to try and get him to sail you to Brynnlaw.where I've heard that he's not on very good terms with the current Pirate Lord."  
  
"Can he be forced?" Entreri asked bluntly, fingering his sword.  
  
"Forced? Aye, for a while, until he can find a way to betray you," C'halhn replied just as bluntly, "Even if you were not to force him, if there were benefit in it he would turn you over to your enemies, just as happily as he would take your bribes. The man is not to be trusted at all."  
  
John grinned fleetingly. In other circumstances, they might as well have describing himself rather accurately.  
  
"But there is no other way to reach Brynnlaw?" Arundel spoke up again.  
  
"None here - there are no ships to Athkatla from the Pirate Isles of late that I have heard of. And of course, the Radiant Heart here does not condone pirate behavior."  
  
"Then we have to use Saemon, however that may come by," Yoshimo sighed. "I am not sure if we truly have to reach Brynnlaw.the Spellhold is."  
  
"We must," Entreri cut in with an air of finality, amber eyes intense from the shadows. "Where is Saemon now?"  
  
That man.creature was really beginning to irritate John. His manner was going to resemble a certain being in turtleneck and dark trenchcoat of John's (unwilling) acquaintance.  
  
"I have no idea," C'halhn said with a slightly embarrassed grin at Arundel, "I apologize, but the man is near-impossible to keep track of, since the authorities here also want him hanged. Like a rat, he has thousands of holes to scurry into at the hint of trouble - and here, there's more than a 'hint' of it, for him."  
  
"Didn't you say he was involved in the Guild war?" Yoshimo pointed out, "Then."  
  
"He's with the group against the Shadow Thieves," C'halhn interrupted. He seemed to like doing that - taking control. John's wandering mind was beginning to suggest the.ah, nature of C'halhn's relationship with Arundel, until it realized that C'halhn had continued speaking. "And the Order, the merchants as well as the Cowled Wizards would side with the Thieves in this case if they have to - though of course they currently remain neutral. You see, the other faction in the Guild war seems to be made up of vampires."  
  
"Vampire thieves?" Y'vair looked curious. "Strange. And the Order of the Radiant Heart overlooks this?"  
  
"The Order has problems of its own at the moment such that it cannot commit its forces toward an assault on an apparently large vampire force," C'halhn explained, "Apparently there is an uprising in the Order - one of the expelled students attempting to recruit members to his cause and overthrow the system."  
  
"You're a treasure trove of information, sir." Y'vair grinned. "So do you have any suggestions as to how to get Saemon Havarian to captain our ship?"  
  
"Rout out the other Guild faction," C'halhn said after thinking for a while. "To trap a rat, you have to force it out of its hole. If you break the other faction, the Shadow Thieves would quickly be able to locate and smoke out all of their hiding places. Catch Saemon when he attempts to run and threaten to give his name to the Shadow Thieves. They operate a very swift kind of justice to those who threaten them, so he would be most happy to leave Athkatla. After that...who knows? You will have to be on guard all the time, and you will not be sure if he'd take you to Brynnlaw."  
  
"You are suggesting we take out a guild of vampires by ourselves?" John asked flatly. "If vampires are anything like they are supposed to be in my world, you have to be out of your bleeding mind."  
  
"Why not?" Arundel chuckled, "We've already killed a dragon."  
  
"With siege engines!"  
  
"The man is right, Arundel," C'halhn smiled suddenly. "Oh, congratulations, by the way," He indicated Arundel's broadsword.  
  
"Thank you," Arundel bowed slightly. "How many vampires are there?"  
  
"You speak of attacking them before we find out how many there are?" John pointed out sarcastically. "And how old are you, a million? However did you get there?"  
  
"Do I look that old?" Arundel passed a hand over his eyes in mock horror. "Oh be still, my ancient heart! Already my hands tremble in aged palsy."  
  
"Ah, shut up," John snorted. "How many vampires?"  
  
"Easily over a hundred, and their numbers grow each day - after all, they can turn people." C'halhn held up a hand quickly before John could turn on Arundel with an acerbic wisecrack. "But, I know people who would willingly help you rout them. The Shadow Thieves would certainly help, as would the former Master vampire and what's left of his clan. When the new vampires came they managed to drive them out and slaughter a large proportion of his force - he has but thirty left."  
  
"Who is the new Master?" Arundel asked curiously, "He must be powerful. I've met Athkatla's vampires, and they didn't look like easy targets." This last seemed to be said mostly for the group's benefit.  
  
"A female - name of Bodhi. You must have heard of her as well," C'halhn glanced at them expectantly. When he only received blank looks in return, he sighed. "Arundel, you have been away far too long. This Bodhi is somewhat of a skillful fighter - and was turned willingly from an elf of a powerful family from the elven city of Suldanesselar, it is rumored."  
  
"An elf?" Arundel remarked in disgust. "How?"  
  
"Yes, I thought that to be undead was just about any pureblood surface elf's worst nightmare," Y'vair added.  
  
"I have no idea," C'halhn shrugged. "But I have seen her likeness. She is - was, perhaps the term is - an elf. A gold elf, in life, a warrior of small repute."  
  
"That is even stranger.gold elves are supposed to be the most 'civilized' subrace," Y'vair frowned. "They should not even think of becoming undead, let alone allowing themselves to be changed."  
  
"Well.perhaps exceptions always exist?" Yoshimo pointed out. "I would never have believed that dark elves would willingly come to the surface, let alone build up enough of a reputation to be elected as a Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate."  
  
"What can vampires do in this world?" John asked impatiently. All the speculations were useless. If Bodhi was an elf, then she was an elf. That was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. C'halhn frowned briefly at him - the words 'this world' had obviously caught his attention - but when Arundel shook his head slightly, he shrugged.  
  
"Well, if you're not careful and you let them bite and drink your blood, you'd lose consciousness and wake up as vampire spawn - totally loyal to the vampire that turned you. If a vampire and you exchange blood, then you'd wake up as a full vampire - though I'm not really sure on this account. Vampire society is very strange. They have resistance to mental spells like charm - and they can cast charm spells in a form of natural hypnosis, can control animals like wolves and bats, can heal quickly, and have incredible strength." Arundel said matter-of-factly.  
  
"However, they can't tolerate a strong odor of garlic."  
  
"This bit I don't understand," John grinned wickedly. "So, we just eat a lot of garlic and breathe on them?"  
  
"Your lightness of heart is an example to us all as we go forth to battle the forces of darkness, sparrow," Y'vair rolled her eyes.  
  
"Thanks, luv."  
  
"And," Arundel continued pointedly, "They cannot stand looking at a mirror."  
  
"Won't understand this one either. They should cast a reflection - in sixth grade I was forced to learn how reflections came about, and."  
  
"Sparrow, shut up."  
  
Arundel sighed. "Or a holy symbol."  
  
"What's a holy symbol?" John asked innocently.  
  
"Won't work for you, sparrow, you godless infidel."  
  
"It won't hurt them, though," Arundel ignored the two, whom had begun bantering (read: insulting each other) again, "They can't cross running water, can't enter private buildings without consent, and can only be killed by direct exposure to sunlight, or being staked through the heart and burned. You could also cut off the thing's head."  
  
"Most of those things work on normal creatures too," John said dryly. "Stakes through the heart, cutting off heads."  
  
"Yes, but most of the things that work on normal creatures don't work on vampires," Yoshimo pointed out. "Like cutting its throat, or stabbing with anything other than stakes."  
  
"There's no other way to find Saemon?" Arundel asked.  
  
"Not unless you want to wait indefinitely for him to show himself, no. I can introduce you first to the ex-Master vampire, who's allied to the Shadow Thieves. You will all have to wait till nightfall - during the day, his current hideout can't be accessed - to prevent humans from entering. I'm led to believe that this is a normal defense in any vampire lair - in the daytime, vampires are not at their full abilities. And he's possessed of a short temper, so be wary of him. This is a good time - I'm supposed to show him some things I.worked up to use against Bodhi's vampires."  
  
"We're not exactly at very good terms with the Shadow Thieves," Yoshimo said suddenly. "Due to an.early incident."  
  
"And I am from a rival thief guild," Artemis Entreri pointed out. "They might not be willing to help."  
  
"They would be," C'halhn frowned, as if trying to convince himself. "They have a stake in this - sorry, no pun intended. By the looks of it, the vampire guild is winning. After all, it's difficult to kill vampires, and they can get.converts.much faster than the thieves can get recruits. I would suggest you rest at the rooms here while I send emissaries to the Thieves and perhaps to the Order of the Radiant Heart for help." He pointed at the rooms lining the hall. "Those that are occupied will have a sign on them." He smiled briefly at Arundel. "Now, if your friends would excuse us."  
  
The rest of the party withdrew a little hastily. Y'vair pulled John into one of the unoccupied rooms and closed the door behind her. The rooms were not large enough to seem intimidating, but not small enough to feel cramped. There was little furniture - a solid-looking four-poster bed, a dresser with a cracked mirror, a tattered carpet, a table and two chairs. There were no windows, yet the air smelled relatively fresh.  
  
"'Excuse' them, indeed," Y'vair grinned wickedly. "I've always wondered what those sort of people do in private."  
  
John returned the grin. "Would you like a demonstration, luv?"  
  
**  
  
John wasn't sure what he'd have expected of a vampire's lair - maybe a dark, dank cavern with chittering bats clawing at the air overhead like airborne shadows, or a decadent mansion at the height of luxury, or maybe some inconceivable chamber that combined both sexual and violent excess. So he felt rather cheated when C'halhn led the party through the sewer network - he hated sewers - to the actual lair itself.  
  
The entrance he vaguely expected - after what seemed an eternity of the stink of human excess, the dampness, and the odd chill - they'd entered a tunnel whose architecture underwent an abrupt change from utilitarian to gothic at its end. Gargoyles glared down from gracefully carved perches on the walls, which had been polished to a brooding gleam, and at the end was an arch of polished granite. Set into it was a solid-looking door of bone- white stone. Two vampires that had been chatting before it straightened nervously when the party approached. They were dressed in short robes and trousers that allowed for freedom of movement, but no protection in terms of armor - and by their fluid, inhuman movement, John guessed with a sinking feeling that they didn't need armor. The look they shot C'halhn was one of recognition, but they gave the rest a wary once-over, especially the golem.  
  
"We have to see your Master," C'halhn said when they stopped a respectable distance away from the vampires. "About Bodhi."  
  
"Wait," one said brusquely, and knocked a quick pattern on the door. It slid open a fraction with oiled ease, and there was a muttered conversation before the door closed again.  
  
The tension as both sides waited was palpable. If C'halhn hadn't cautioned them to be studiously polite as they'd walked here, or risk fighting thirty vampires on their home ground, John would probably have risked a jibe at the guards. Vitamin D, sunlight and their need for a tan? Or maybe about their.boxed-up excuse of a social life. It was something interesting to consider.  
  
Eventually the door opened, and a vampire in a matching dark doublet and hose glided out. His boots were soft, dark red leather, and his clothes seemed to catch the little light from the torches set into the walls and birth it into iridescence. His face was very pale, like the other vampires that carefully stepped out of the door, but not handsome - it was blocky and marred with terrible scars that crawled over his cheeks, probably from before he was turned, John surmised. However, his eyes, maroon like the other vampires, were filled with a certain keen awareness that could only be found in those who were very intelligent. So far in this world, John had only seen it in Zaknafein, K'yanae and Entreri. That, and the fact that the vampire's confidence stemmed from the knowledge that he could, if he wanted, tear the lot of them apart with his hands, commanded respect, if nothing else.  
  
From what John could see of the lair inside, it looked as though it had been cut out of a normal, 'commoner' home - no frills or decoration, it even looked rather spartan, if you ignored the fact that all the furniture was stone instead of wood that could be broken up to make stakes. Hence, the odd sense of disappointment.  
  
"Greetings, Ytoller." C'halhn bowed slightly.  
  
Ytoller swept his keen eyes over the rest of the party quickly. "What do you wish to say, C'halhn?" he said bluntly. "These are mortals. Against Bodhi they would be."  
  
"Far from useless," C'halhn cut in. "Arundel and his golem you have heard of, and that is Artemis Entreri. The rest have knowledge in war and magic."  
  
"So do we," Ytoller said irritably. "Can they resist charm spells, or block the strength of a vampire's blow, or counter its speed? Useless to me, C'halhn, and worse still, if they turn against us."  
  
John opened his mouth to frame an angry retort, but Y'vair's swift, warning pinch was hard enough to stifle whatever he was going to say. He glared at her, but she shot him a warning glance. The cat growled softly behind him, and Ytoller stared at it. He blinked, and gave them yet another once over. "Hmph. The panther, the plane-touched bard, the out- worlder, and the thief from Kara-Tur. I have heard that Bodhi has been looking for you lot."  
  
"Then." C'halhn began.  
  
"It means nothing to me," Ytoller growled. "Perhaps the werewolf and your bedfellow would be of some assistance, but the rest are plainly useless."  
  
John saw Arundel's hands twitch slightly into fists at the way Ytoller spoke 'bedfellow'. "Ytoller."  
  
Arundel and Ytoller engaged in a staring match, with the vampire's jaw beginning to twitch. "I know what you are, elf." Ytoller murmured. "Your companions would not be so eager to follow you if they knew what you were."  
  
"Look here, you bloody sod," John snapped, his temper finally getting the better of him. "From what I know, this Bodhi destroyed most of your clan, leaving only a pathetic few that she didn't even bother to exterminate. Elf, we'd find help elsewhere. These tight-arsed excuses for vampires have had the sense beaten out of them. If they want to stay here and whine about it and bitch about how everyone ain't strong enough to help them, that's what they can do. We're leaving now."  
  
With that, he turned his back on the vampires and stalked off down the tunnel, the hot taste of fury both familiar and acute, built up by all the damned delays and interruptions they had to face since they came out into the sunlight at Waukeen's Promenade. He welcomed the fury, as he had always had - living on the edge, it helped sometimes when you were so drunk with emotion you can't see - or care - if you fall. Behind him, he heard the party follow him.  
  
Ytoller growled then, something that resembled what Entreri did unconsciously whenever a fight was going to start, and the other vampires also joined in, creating an unearthly chorus of menace that echoed and amplified in the enclosed space. "Stand where you are, mortals."  
  
John sneered over his shoulder, knowing that he was being a right bastard but loving it. "Yeah, now what do you want us to do? Help you lot change your nappies? You're soddin' children compared to what I've faced down before. Come on - if they don't want to help us, then we can ask someone else."  
  
"I say stand, mortals!" Ytoller snarled. "Or by the blood of the First, I'd cut you down where you are!"  
  
"What do you want to do now, sparrow?" Y'vair whispered.  
  
"Actually I'm quite surprised we got this far," he admitted.  
  
"Ah." She paused. "It was nice knowing you too."  
  
"John Constantine.perhaps we should listen to what he has to say." C'halhn stopped walking, by the sound of it. John turned, affecting weariness.  
  
"Look, if the."  
  
He blinked. Ytoller was standing only a few feet away from him, having approached with frightening speed and silence. The vampire bared his long, pearly-white fangs instinctively, and then controlled himself with an effort. "Perhaps I was too hasty in getting angry," he muttered. His eyes seemed to glow briefly for a moment as he stared into John's eyes, then he blinked and frowned. "Demon blood.you have demon blood in your veins, yet you do not smell plane-touched like the bard! What are you?"  
  
"And that is your business because.?" John decided not to be intimidated, and folded his arms.  
  
"Insolence!" one of the lesser vampires snarled, but Ytoller held up a hand, effectively stilling all sounds of protest. John noted that the nails were long and sharp.it rather reminded him of the prevailing 'nail' fashion amongst women. He wondered if the vampire left the nails long, or whether it was naturally that way.  
  
John suddenly realized he wasn't really concentrating on the surroundings when the vampire moved, hand reaching lazily out towards his face. Instinctively he ducked to the right, turned, and modifying the cat's earlier move, kicked the vampire in the back of his knee. The creature fell with a curse, and managed to roll up with unnatural speed - and faced the tip of Entreri's Vortex blade.  
  
The assassin smiled slightly. "Do you want to see if werewolves are faster than vampires?"  
  
"Tell your friends to back off," John rolled a cigarette with practiced ease, the white, thin cylinder between his fingers, then using Firetooth to light it. The dagger was useful - if willed, the blade could burn with red flame - though whoever designed it forgot to put heat resistance into the hilt, so if it burned for too long, the hilt would grill John's fingers.  
  
"You heard him," Ytoller snarled to his minions. Unwillingly, they stepped further back, whimpering and snarling like dogs bereft of their prey.  
  
"Can we kill him?" Entreri asked C'halhn unemotionally.  
  
C'halhn was staring at John. "How did you do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Ytoller put his hold on you - your mind should have drifted so much that you wouldn't have noticed when he caught your face - but you managed to duck and even.counter attack."  
  
Ah, so that explained the distraction about nails. John shrugged. "It isn't that easy to bugger my brain, mate."  
  
"No, it should have been, unless. no, a vampire. not even your blood could have." C'halhn looked extremely confused, for once.  
  
"He doesn't exist," Ytoller said suddenly, still staring at Entreri's sword.  
  
"For your information." John growled, "I do bloody happen to."  
  
"When I reached for your mind, I felt something.but then it slipped to nothing, as if you weren't there. Even the inanimate have auras, but you were as air." Ytoller sighed, affecting more interest in John than his possible death at Entreri's blade. "Perhaps because you are not of this world? I have never seen a human with a demon's blood in his veins before."  
  
"That is not your concern," Entreri growled before Ytoller could continue. "Now, will you help us kill Bodhi, or do you wish to hide here in your sewers like field mice?"  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw C'halhn wince visibly. Arundel patted his back in sympathy.  
  
John smirked. He was beginning to like the werewolf already.  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
A certain being: The Phantom Stranger is one of the members of the Trenchcoat Brigade (this name was coined by John). He adores making mysterious appearances and speaking in a cryptic manner. John thinks that there are 'beds of kelp' that are smarter than the Stranger, and once he accidentally pissed on the Stranger's shoes. 


	15. One last love song

Chapter 12  
  
One last love song  
  
"The charge of the freak brigade," John muttered, glancing at the group out of the corner of his eyes.  
  
Not a very impressive number of.creatures had assembled at C'halhn's call. Other than thirty rather sullen vampires led by Ytoller, there were about ten Shadow Thieves - supposedly the best of them, heavily shielded from magic, and ten noisy paladins, led by Bayer. Which made, plus the party and C'halhn, fifty-six of them. Bodhi and her vampires probably outnumbered them by at least two to one.  
  
They had gathered in an agreed chamber in the sewers, rather far away from Ytoller's lair. From the slippery platform painted in ghastly shades of dull olive by slime, they stood about half a metre away from the sluggish, fetid water. John half-expected the water to be positively vibrating with the exhilaration that just about everyone was experiencing before going into a battle wherein it was highly possible that they would all die painfully. He shook his head, and flicked his cigarette into the water - watching the embers continue to glow like a dying sun. Dying embers - it was yet another graphic image that reminded him of what was obviously going to happen.  
  
The panther purred and rubbed against his trousers, nearly forcing him over into the water.  
  
"What was that for?" John glared at it. It ignored his question and continued to purr. Like a broken motorcycle engine, John thought critically. It snorted at him, and he frowned slightly - one day he would have to figure out how it sometimes seemed to be able to read what he was thinking.  
  
"Quiet, sparrow," Y'vair smirked. "If you fall again, this time, there isn't a nice flat floor. You'd probably break your head on the stone."  
  
"His skin's thick enough to absorb the impact," Yoshimo observed dryly.  
  
"I don't know why I bother playing silly buggers with you lot," John glared at the panther again. It was making the noise that was, for it, normally associated with an evil snigger. He aimed a kick at it, which it easily dodged with feline grace, avoiding the damp spots on the platform even as it pretended to try and bite John on the ankle, then leaping backwards, tail slashing through the air in excitement.  
  
"Not you too," John groaned. "I think all of you must have done crack behind my back. There's no way you should be this happy."  
  
"Crack?" Entreri inquired. He was staring at the vampires - they were the group's indication of when the sun would set. The sewers apparently connected to the cemetery, something that John found immensely funny. Sanitation for the dead. The few corpses he had met before certainly needed it.  
  
Apparently there were strong seals on all entrances to Bodhi's crypt when the sun shone in the sky, which disappeared when the sun set, allowing the vampires to go and hunt. John thought this rather stupid - what if the vampires needed to go out in the day? And why couldn't they just blow up the place? But at the shocked look on Ytoller's - and his minions' - faces, the rest of the group decided to drop that idea.  
  
It was worth those expressions just to suggest the idea, actually.  
  
"A drug," John explained, smirking. "I still think we should blow up the area. End of problem, no need to fight."  
  
"Sparrow, we've explained this to you several times," Y'vair complained, "The cemetery is public property. We can't just blow it up." She paused. "Without getting caught."  
  
"As opposed to 'we can't just charge in with two to one odds, we'd all die' I suppose?"  
  
"We won't all die," Arundel smiled happily. "We'd live long yet for the Lady Bard to sing songs of our valor."  
  
"The weight of your armor has crushed out your sad little mind," John retorted. "Well yeah, I take that back. Not all of us will die because some of us are already dead." He jerked his head in the direction of the vampires, all of which were pointedly ignoring him.  
  
"Sparrow, your sense of humor justifies some drastic sort of surgery," Y'vair put her hand on the hilt of her sword in mock warning.  
  
"Forget it, luv, you'd cut off your own fingers with that knife of yours," John grinned, "I've seen your attempts at healing."  
  
"Will they stop eventually?" John heard Bayer asking Arundel in bemusement.  
  
"If they did, I'd be worried."  
  
"How long more till darkness spreads her blanket."  
  
"You're plagiarizing, friend."  
  
"I'm quoting. There's a difference, in case your elven mind can't grasp the subtleties of Common," Bayer winked at his knights. Nine sets of white teeth flashed back an innocent grin under the light of the lanterns hung on the golem's saddle. John remembered a riddle about teeth idly, while watching how the shadows and the water's reflections cast from the candles writhed and contorted on the dank walls as the golem, perhaps reflecting his master's excitement, shifted its weight on metal hooves, tossed its head and shook itself from time to time, an eerie caricature of a real horse.  
  
"Well, I can't understand Pig either." Arundel said innocently. "Stands to reason that Common is so difficult for us elves to grasp."  
  
"Why are they complaining about us?" John raised an eyebrow.  
  
"The sun will set soon," Ytoller said suddenly. "We should move now." Without waiting for any response, the vampires started away swiftly. Muttering curses, John jogged along with the party, behind the clanking knights and the Shadow Thieves that moved as silently as the vampires.  
  
"Remember, cut off their heads, or stake them in the heart," Ytoller said grimly. "The charm amulets all of you have will ward against our mind holds until the next day dawns. Even with the link necklace that it hangs on - try not to get any vampire close enough to rip it off - or you'd be subject to influences again. And in case you try anything against us - well, the charm amulets do not work with us."  
  
"We can turn undead, but." Bayer began.  
  
"Yeah. That would affect us as well," Ytoller admitted.  
  
"How close must you be to be turned?" Arundel asked, "Sorry Bayer, but none of you look um, powerful enough to cause vampires to explode."  
  
Bayer chuckled. "And this is why you should get a god, Arundel! Once a day Helm gifts us with the ability to cause one particular undead to be destroyed. We will use that ability in this fight - but sparingly."  
  
"So long as you're not in our line of sight of four to six metres, you should be fine," Bayer added with a boyish grin. "Stay behind us, we'd signal when we're about to do it. I suppose we might try to warn you lot. It's lucky you have uniforms," he nodded at the scarlet tunics embroidered with Ytoller's crest of a snarling lynx that the vampires wore. "All vamps look the same to me."  
  
"You only have limited numbers of times that you can turn undead, right?" Arundel pressed.  
  
"Yeah," Bayer nodded. "Or else the symbol we have for this purpose," he pointed at his heavy silver amulet whose main design as far as John could tell was a stylized eye, "would crumble into dust. It can only take so much of a God's power in a period."  
  
"Why don't you bring many amulets?" Arundel grinned.  
  
"The amulet's an indication, actually - power's channeled through ourselves. If we attempted to use too much turn undead in a day - well, we would die." Bayer smiled. "Once the amulet turns dark, it's a signal for us to stop."  
  
"How many turn undead tries do you people have in all?" one of the Shadow Thieves finally spoke up. That group had been keeping to themselves through most of the conversations, though John knew from their postures that the buggers were eavesdropping on everything. Rather like leeches.  
  
"Some of us can do it more than others. but I would think, counting the once a day ability. about fifty or so times. And some of us have spells like False Dawn and Sunray, but I'm afraid they'd affect Ytoller and his vampires as well, so we'd only be able to use those as a last resort." There was a certain cast to Bayer's expression when he mentioned the last part of his sentence, but it seemed to go unnoticed by Ytoller.  
  
Well, John thought, the fewer vampires the better.  
  
"That should cut down the odds a little," Arundel smiled optimistically.  
  
John fingered the stake in his pocket, and not for the first time wished that whatever were causing him to go along with this instead of buggering off and coming back later would go away. There was no way he had enough strength - or the equipment - to cut off a vampire's head - not to mention all the accidental collateral damage he would probably do if he attempted to swing a sword for fighting instead of for casting spells. As to being able to get close enough to stake something that moved like a snake. he was probably worse than useless in this sort of fight.  
  
He tried to slow down his footsteps. Maybe the rest of the group would forget about him. and with synchronicity, he'd never be lost. He'd just meet up with them later, with a smile and a wink.  
  
John was rather unsurprised when he realized that he couldn't, in fact, slow down. His feet had rebelled...or someone had taken control. Again.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Ytoller looked surprised when they rounded a bend and found themselves in a rather airy, white stone tunnel with a high ceiling. At the end of the tunnel was a large door not unlike the one at Ytoller's hideout, except that various geometric designs had been carved into it, patterns so intricate that any attempt to follow them resulted in a headache. There were no guards in front of the door, and it showed no visible sign of being 'sealed', or any traps that they could see. However, the Shadow Thieves immediately got to work, carefully scrutinizing the area. Entreri let them do it with an ironic smile - he and the Thieves were studiously avoiding having to speak to one another.  
  
"I don't bloody think there're any traps," John muttered. "How would they get out then? Fly?" He paused. "Can they do that?"  
  
"Not unless the vampire was a mage when still in the world of the living," Ytoller commented. "Which is unlikely. Mages should end up as liches - but I am not totally certain of this. I have yet to see a mage vampire before, myself."  
  
"Or the really old vampires," Arundel added, watching as the Thieves examined the area methodically. "Eh, the thieves are good, aren't they?"  
  
Entreri turned down both sides of his mouth in withering disgust, but did not say anything.  
  
"The tunnel's clear," the leader of the Thieves, whose name John couldn't remember and couldn't be bothered to, spoke. "Come on."  
  
"The sun has yet to set," Ytoller said calmly. "And is this going to be organized, or are we all going to charge in and get into each other's way?"  
  
"We offer to go first," Bayer stated, with murmurs of assent from his knights. "There's no way they can bite us anyway." He grinned as he pointed at his steel neck guard and shoulder plates. "And we can turn undead, so."  
  
"We thieves prefer to backstab," the leader said, "So we might not be in a fixed position."  
  
"Backstab a vampire?" Ytoller smirked. "I'd like to see that happen."  
  
The leader ignored him. "But we will attempt to stay in the centre of the group."  
  
"We might have to spread out later," Ytoller continued, "There's no way this many of us can fit into most of the corridors other than the main avenue after this door without serious overcrowding. I suggest we spread out after that. All corridors with silver-traced designs on the ground eventually lead to the main hall, where Bodhi should be, with the most numbers of vampires."  
  
"So we should gather there for our last stand?" Bayer's face showed that his imagination was afire with the romantic concept.  
  
"Hardly," Ytoller snorted. "The corridors all eventually narrow out such that only one person can pass at once, before they open to the main hall that way. You'd have to go in one at a time - very easy to be blocked, or killed."  
  
"So what do we do? Camp out in the main corridor?"  
  
"They'd just wait until these run out," C'halhn pointed to his charm- warded amulet.  
  
"I suggest that when we split up, we split up into mixed groups," Entreri said dryly. "At least one paladin in each. When we reach the ends of those corridors - turn undead and drive out a space long enough for us to get out."  
  
"Which brings us to another problem. How do we get there in the same time? That would be the best way to." the leader was interrupted by an impatient Ytoller.  
  
"Us vampires can. sense each other. We will leave it at that. We'd attempt to coordinate the efforts."  
  
"How many corridors are there? We'd better decide on how to split the group quickly." Arundel glanced nervously at the door. "How long more?"  
  
"Half an hour or so. I hadn't expected us to get here this fast." Ytoller shot John a suspicious glance. John, out of a sense of pure mischief, winked at him, and the vampire turned his head away with a sniff. "As to number of corridors, ten, but two of them are hidden. Groups of seven?" Ytoller glanced at them.  
  
John found himself in a group that consisted of Arundel and his golem, a sulking vampire, Entreri, one paladin called Ajantis that they had encountered before in the Windspear Hills, Y'vair and Yoshimo. The vampires had appeared extremely reluctant to be in any group with him in it, and the same attitude existed regarding Entreri and the Shadow Thieves - they were carefully staying out of each other's personal space, something that seemed to consist of a radius of several metres.  
  
"Be careful of traps in some of the corridors," Ytoller said, "Bodhi has replaced my old traps on the corridors, so even I cannot tell you where they are now."  
  
"Which is why we are here," the Shadow Thief leader smiled with the arrogance common to members of his guild.  
  
Entreri rolled his eyes. John believed that the assassin did not dislike the Thieves purely out of inter-guild rivalry - he was much too.elemental, at times, for that. But his antagonism could stem from a thousand reasons, knowing people, a thousand reasons in which John would probably affect as much interest as he would in getting a beheading.  
  
He wondered what would happen if Entreri were to use the vortex blade on vampires. then remembered what would happen if there was a large explosion underground. Instant burial, how exciting. He was about to warn the thief when Ytoller spoke. "The sun has set."  
  
As they waited tensely, the door began to open ponderously, the grinding of stone sounding quite like an ominous growl. Abruptly, a thousand moths suddenly seemed to melt out of the white stone, white moths that flew towards them in a loud thrumming of wings.  
  
"What the hell is this?" John yelled at Ytoller.  
  
"I have no idea! It wasn't here before"  
  
"Avoid the powder on their wings, it could blind you!" Arundel drew his sword, a highly ineffectual move.  
  
Y'vair calmly stepped forward, muttering a few unintelligible words and placing her hands with palms facing outwards and upwards as the moths bore down on them. A large fan of fire roared out from them, engulfing some of the moths. Systematically she moved the fan up and down until all the moths were charred crisps on the ground, after which the fire seemed to peter out.  
  
That seemed to be the cue for Bodhi's vampires to charge. They didn't wield weapons, but moved incredibly quickly.  
  
"For Helm and the Order!" Bayer shouted, and charged. His paladins followed, all drawing their swords in a shrill hiss of metal like the song of a hundred snakes.  
  
"Berks," John shook his head.  
  
Half of Ytoller's vampires detached from their ranks and swiftly joined the fray, while the other half, as well as Arundel, aimed their crossbows carefully, picking off some of Bodhi's vampires with practiced accuracy. John counted about thirty vampires that were hers - i.e. not wearing scarlet tunics - before giving up. Although the group had apparently lost the advantage of surprise, they were holding up surprisingly well. The close quarters of the tunnel were working for them, not allowing Bodhi's vampires to flank them.  
  
The golem was pure destruction. It shrieked, a metallic, eerie sound that echoed harshly in the tunnel, and used heavy front hooves to batter down a vampire, then the hooves seemed to blur and shift into solid blades that sheared through the vampire's neck with terrible ease. As its body shriveled into a desiccated corpse, the golem moved on, kicking both hind legs at another vampire, crushing its skull. As the creature staggered and fell, a waiting paladin beheaded it. One vampire leaped onto its back, snarling, and it bucked, dislodging the thing, then kicked it in a rather personal and delicate area.  
  
John grimaced in sympathy. With that thing around, perhaps they could win after all.or maybe it'd just be the last one standing.  
  
One vampire broke free from the melee and snarled, charging towards Arundel. The elf carefully aimed, unruffled, and shot. The bolt missed the thing's heart, slamming into its shoulder with a meaty sound, but not enough to down it. Growling in rage, it reached Arundel before the elf could discard his crossbow and draw his sword, but was attacked from the side by C'halhn, wielding a fine longsword, a shield with the insignia of a stag strapped to his left arm. It dodged his slashes, growling, by which time Arundel had drawn his broadsword and split the vampire's skull. Looking thoughtfully at the still twitching body, the elf proceeded to decapitate it as well.  
  
None of the paladins or thieves were actually quick enough to land critical wounds on the vampires, and they changed tactics quickly, turning defensive. Mostly the favored strategy was to distract the vampires enough for Ytoller's minions to stake them, and then to cut off the heads. Still, John counted two downed Thieves with torn throats, and one paladin dead with a broken neck.  
  
Entreri was the exception - with a werewolf's speed, he was actually able to move as quickly as the vampires. As John watched, he ducked a punch from a vampire, his sword a fleeting arc of silver as it slashed open the vampire's belly. As the creature staggered forward, long nails curling into claws that shot towards the assassin, he lashed out with his dagger with controlled precision, severing one of the vampire's hands neatly. As the vampire howled its pain, Entreri used his werewolf strength and cut off its head, watching the creature turn into an inanimate corpse with a feral, vicious smile.  
  
This was obviously not a good thing to do in battle, because another vampire leaped at him, long fingers curling round his neck, strangling. Entreri choked, gasping for air - and blurred into the Change, hair actually sprouting on his face and hands in the few seconds that it took to do so - and a very surprised vampire found itself holding a wolf. Its shock was such that it dropped the wolf and took a step back, staring, in time to receive a quivering arrow-shaft in the heart courtesy of a grinning Yoshimo.  
  
Entreri Changed back into human, and raised his sword in a quick salute to the thief, then dodged a slash. John watched as he faced off three vampires, and considered smoking a cigarette.  
  
Unfortunately for him, his hands were stuck in his trenchcoat fishing for matches and his pouch, when a vampire that had somehow managed to leave the fight lunged at him. The panther darted to the side, and it ignored the cat, preparing to pounce.  
  
It was at these sorts of moments when the brain froze and sweat turned cold, and the stomach overturns with a wash of acid. John gasped, stepping back, somehow managing to free the hand that held Firetooth without ripping his coat, and drew back to throw..knowing that the vampire could just as easily dodge.realizing synchronicity, for some reason, wasn't working. and saw the vampire yell as the cat bit and wrenched at the back of one knee, breaking it. As it fell to its knees, John cursed, knowing he had no way of removing the creature's head.  
  
Yoshimo came to the rescue with his katana. When it was done, the thief grinned impishly at him. "You should learn how to wield one of these. Light, graceful, and deadly." he paused to sheathe his katana and use his bow on an approaching vampire.  
  
John took a look at the sheathed katana. Long enough to trip him up if he attempted to walk with it, heavy enough for him to wrench off his wrist if he attempted to wield it. Yes. Very deadly. In his hands, probably as useful as a rubber chicken in defending himself. The cat purred, as if it had heard.  
  
"Isn't your magic working?" Yoshimo frowned as one of his arrows hit a vampire in the throat instead of in the heart. "Damn." The next one hit the creature close enough to down it. "And I'm running out of arrows."  
  
John ignored the first question. "Go pick them up, then."  
  
"Hah." Yoshimo hit a vampire in the knee. As it stopped, snarling, John managed to hit it between the eyes with a Firetooth, and a Shadow Thief close to them beheaded the thing as it clawed at the dagger. John wiped his magically returned dagger on one of the vampire corpses' clothes.  
  
The fight was ending - the last three vampires were being quickly dispatched. John counted the casualties - four thieves and two paladins, dead.  
  
"Not a very good sign, since we haven't even stepped in," Y'vair voiced his thoughts. Before them, the thieves and paladins were already making their way to the entrance, with the thieves checking cautiously for traps. Entreri padded up to them, the few scratches and gashes that had landed on him not serious enough to warrant treatment at this moment.  
  
"Come, comrades!" Bayer shouted happily, brandishing his sword in the air. "Let us step forth into their lair! Helm will guide our path, to victory!" The remaining paladins cheered.  
  
"Berks." John muttered.  
  
**  
  
The main avenue inside the door was even wider than the corridor outside. The polished walls of the rectangular tunnel were painted with frescoes of symbols of darkness - wolves, the moon, and so on. John found it rather unimaginative and pat, as though someone had attempted to make the place as forbidding as possible, but the chaotic pictures just made it seem like an enthusiastic waste of energy. It was totally unoriginal, unlike the designs on the ground. Traced into the floor with silver and occasionally colored with beautifully set mosaic tiles were grotesque and perversely detailed depictions of some strange rites that seemed to involve a lot of dying and blood. In the backdrop was a large snarling wolf, its fur a gorgeous pattern of mosaic in many shades of red.  
  
Arundel took one look and shuddered. "The ritual of the Turning, yes?"  
  
Ytoller looked surprised. "You know of it?"  
  
"I've come across copies of the books which described it. all three books of the Vampiri. Disgusting, really.and I can't imagine why anyone would want to.never you mind," Arundel said diplomatically.  
  
Ytoller looked even more curious now. "Truly? But the last I heard, the books were in Suldanesselar, and I do not think that city would let you into it."  
  
Arundel smiled. "Ah.but they were not always in Suldanesselar."  
  
Ytoller seemed to be unwilling to leave it at that, but at this moment, the only other door other than the entrance, another stone portal, swung open and erupted vampires, this time armed with swords, met head on by the paladins, who didn't seem to be tiring at all. Maybe they took drugs.  
  
They lost a few more thieves and two of Ytoller's vampires. John shrugged, wondering how many more they would lose in the corridors when they had to split up after this. Again, he wished that synchronicity would bloody hell work right now, so he could move someplace else more peaceful and undead-free.  
  
The room after the door was another large chamber in the shape of a semi-circle. Again, there were frescoes on the wall, though these seemed to have been painted by a more superior artist. Most of it seemed to be of wolves on the hunt, extremely lifelike. The floor, in sharp contrast, was plain white stone.  
  
"This is pretty," Entreri commented, touching the ruff of one of the painted wolves.  
  
Ytoller chuckled. "And well it should be. I paid a lot of money for that one - and some of the other frescoes in this area. Not the one in the main chamber though - that one was by one of those that I turned. Never turn artists into vampires. Something snaps in them, and their work becomes a little.strange."  
  
"'Strange' is a mild term for the pictures outside," Arundel sheathed his broadsword and checked his crossbow in this respite. "I'm not even going to call it art."  
  
C'halhn laughed. "One day that tongue of yours."  
  
"Are we going to split up now?" Bayer interrupted. "There are four corridors only, and now five groups."  
  
Ytoller nodded. "That corridor over there splits up into another branch later. Two groups should head that way, and the rest just take any one of these branches. Leave the rooms as they are, if you can. After we get rid of Bodhi, we will clean them up. Good luck."  
  
"See you around, friend," Bayer winked at Arundel. "If you're still there."  
  
"Mind your short human life doesn't get snuffed out like a candle." Arundel returned good-naturedly.  
  
**  
  
The corridor seemed to wind on forever. John grew to hate the silver designs that curled into lifelike designs of vampires and their activities, because their continuity signaled to him that Synchronicity was still, stubbornly, not working. Occasionally vampires would jump out at them from behind hidden doors, or attempt to - the panther, or Entreri, always smelled them a distance before the actual opening of the door, so they always had prior warning.  
  
At least they hadn't lost a single group member yet.though all of them with the exception of the golem and the vampire were tiring. John had surprised himself by actually attempting to help instead of watching everyone else do it and smoking.though mostly throwing daggers just slowed down the vampires. In worse case scenarios, the vampires threw them back.  
  
The annoying thing was, monsters here either were exempt from any mental 'tricks' John attempted on them, or that aspect of his magic had finally decided to stop working altogether, or someone was interfering. To his annoyance, John realized that he hadn't even considered the idea of using magic to 'dissuade' his party members from joining in this suicidal attack on Bodhi.  
  
When he got his hands on whoever was behind all of this.  
  
"That mosaic on the wall has four vampires behind it," Entreri said conversationally, breaking the train of graphic torture images that John was entertaining in his head. Stupidly enough, the vampires still waited for them to come closer before that section of the wall slid away and they leaped out, temporarily disoriented. Yoshimo got an arrow into the first one, and it staggered back into another vampire that snarled and shoved the weight away. Ajantis shouted out one of his many battlecries (John had counted at least five different ones so far) and charged, swinging his broadsword. The vampires dodged that easily, but one met the sharp side of Entreri's sword.  
  
Two more to go.  
  
"Aren't you going to help, sparrow?" Y'vair asked John, who was, at this point of time, leaning on the wall and watching.  
  
"Me? You lot seem to be doing quite well," John smirked.  
  
"He'd only get in the way," Entreri said, dodging a swipe and slashing open one vampire's belly with his sword. It jerked back with a wail, and the werewolf reversed his stroke and swept off the head.  
  
John wisely decided not to respond, and it was true anyway. When they disposed of the last vampire, the continued to follow the silver threads.  
  
Eventually, as Ytoller said would happen, the corridor narrowed such that they had to walk in single file. At least no more vampires leapt out of walls, though Entreri found and disarmed the occasional trap. John was vaguely surprised that the golem somehow still managed to pass without scraping against the walls. It was trotting behind him, bringing up the rear in case they got attacked from behind, and John had that unpleasant feeling between his shoulderblades that he got whenever something suspicious was walking behind him. Usually this something suspicious was Mr. E in pre-Eric days, but you'd never know.  
  
They reached a stone door at the end that looked as though it would be able to move with a single push. The vampire in their party announced that the others weren't all in position yet, and they should wait.  
  
The period of waiting before possible death was one experience that John had gone through several times in his life, and an experience that he never really liked to repeat. The comradely 'good luck's eventually fade into a silence in which one fancies that one can hear one's own heart beating, beating out its life force and marking the time left in your life which could be extinguished any moment. One becomes incredibly, horribly aware of everything - the soft slithering sound of the false mane against the golem's metal neck, the rhythmic breathing of the rest of the group with the exception of the vampire, the rasp of clothing as someone moves, the occasional sound from the panther. In this state something weird happens to the digestive system and one gets an uncomfortable feeling in the stomach and the muscles all tense, winding up like a coiled spring, ready to burst. It's worse in confined areas, like where they were in now, where if John reached up with one hand he could touch the bloody ceiling.  
  
Bugger this.  
  
After an eternity while John began to grow more and more impatient, the vampire said, "Everyone's in position."  
  
"They probably already know we're here," Entreri muttered, but he kicked open the door as Ajantis strode forward, a silver holy symbol held in one outstretched hand that suddenly glowed in an amber light that was bright enough to be painful to look at. The vampire in their party let out a whimper.  
  
John poked it in the back and smirked into its face. "Batteries in them lights will run out sooner or later."  
  
Ajantis' symbol cleared out a fan of space from the vampires that had been waiting to pounce. John estimated about sixty or so in the chamber, and winced. There probably wasn't space enough to slack off.  
  
It was a large round chamber with a circular pool in the centre about two metres in diameter, filled with what looked like blood. There were apparently eight openings to the room, and four more of them burst open, spilling out paladins and Thieves.  
  
"Bodhi!" Ytoller roared from somewhere inside a mass of vampires.  
  
"Ytoller! You will die this day!" This came from a female vampire that stood next to the blood pool, clad interestingly in tastefully placed patches of black leather. It looked as though the vampire had been wearing a catsuit that had been savaged by a sewing machine with some scissors, in John's opinion.  
  
The vampire Bodhi stared at him with vicious, insane eyes, and he flipped the finger at her and winked.  
  
"John Constantine!" She snarled. "Catch the Out-worlder, my children! Bring him to me!"  
  
"You never mentioned your popularity in these sorts of circles, sparrow." Y'vair told John brightly.  
  
"Yeah well, some women just can't seem to keep their hands off me, luv," John leered at her. Y'vair snorted, and fended off a charging vampire, somehow managing to slam it into the wall and put a stake through its heart, even though the stiffness of the swing signified that she was tired. He wondered if it was possible to slip out from behind and make a run for it while everyone else was having fun, but dismissed the idea - if he ran into any vampires there, he would be on his own.  
  
A fight with more than ten people in an enclosed area tended to be somewhat messy. John realized that a good thing to do was to stay in a situation where you're somewhat out of the action and your back is to the wall, i.e. nothing hostile can sneak up behind you. Something he had also realized early in life was that if he kept quiet (this is the difficult part) in an area and didn't do anything untoward people wouldn't recognize him. However, now that most of Bodhi's minions seemed hell-bent on getting to him, this option of staying in one place wasn't particularly feasible, so he did the next best thing - stay next to Yoshimo, whose arrows kept enough vampires away for it to be safer than say, staying near Ajantis, or staying by himself.  
  
The melee was noisy and confusing, but somehow unreal, like watching some sort of movie that hadn't been filmed very well, what with the dim lights and the uncoordinated action. Somewhere in there the golem was shrieking a challenge in that unnerving, almost-alive way of it. The paladins, for some reason, were singing. This John found extremely funny, though he couldn't locate the reason.  
  
.fire, twisting into wraiths and long, sharp-talon fingers.  
  
"What the hell?" John blinked. How did that image get into.?  
  
.fire, blossoms of heat in blood-color or sunset-hue, burning clouds.  
  
".John Constantine?" John realized Yoshimo was staring at him. "Are you okay? You."  
  
.fire, in the Eye of the Lord, hammer-heat in the forge of the core of the Realm.  
  
The images seemed to race over his eyes, blanking out everything around him for the moments that they were there. John shook his head forcefully and tried to tell Yoshimo that he was fine, but he realized the thief wasn't paying attention to him anymore, but staring at Bodhi. So he looked.  
  
Bodhi caught Y'vair's blade, laughing, and jerked it out of her grip, tossing it into the blood pool. Y'vair swore, and traced out a symbol in the air that glowed yellow as it hung there, resembling some sort of Celtic knotwork, but whatever it was didn't seem to work on Bodhi. The vampire lunched, punching Y'vair in the stomach, then as the bard doubled over, Bodhi caught both sides of her head, rubbing one finger against the gleaming horn for a moment. The vampire caught and held John's horrified eyes, then she smiled, and twisted.  
  
Y'vair's neck snapped with an audible crack.  
  
The sound seemed to roar its echo inside John's ears, numbing out all sensations, even grief, and he was dimly aware of a hot taste in his mouth and a clenching, icy feeling around his heart before a headache blossomed, behind his temples, behind his eyes. His muscles all seemed to tense, and the tips of his fingers tingled as though on the verge of getting frostbitten. He tried to cry out, but couldn't move his mouth, and in a final act of utter frustration pushed hard at all the strange sensations erupting in his body. They seemed to writhe and twist into some final image that burst out and left him blank, calm.  
  
.fire, bloody hellfire.  
  
The white space before his eyes switched abruptly to a cool black, and he sank into it gratefully, and in a crazy whirl, half-forgotten words came to mind.  
  
1 One last love song  
  
To bring me back  
  
And then walk on  
  
Keep walking on.  
  
--  
  
Little Notes and References:  
  
The freak brigade: I've read Trenchcoat Brigade/the first Books of Magic. Haha! I admit to taking bits from them.  
  
Y'vair: Yes, I know; yet another woman who got involved with JC died. This sort of thing happens. but actually, an RL explanation of 'why' is because I asked a friend of mine whether or not I should kill off his girlfriend in the story, and she said yes, so I did. We are both evil. Join the club.  
  
Controlling John: This is because I'm pretty sure under normal circumstances, John would slack off from this sort of trouble, or find some means to deal with it that do not involve as much a chance of him getting hurt. Hence, this plot device. John may or may not eventually stop being useless in party terms. Heh.  
  
One last love song: This probably doesn't have any significance other than the fact that I just reread the story of the same title by Warren Ellis (who I always confuse with Garth Ennis), where John walks in a park while the ghosts of all his former girlfriends come out and haunt him, and he talks about them (hey, maybe this has some significance.). Which reminds me: time to rant: 17 months more before that Brian "Bozo" Azzarello leaves Hellblazer. an eternity. 


	16. And it ends here?

Chapter 13

And it ends there?

"…no, he seems to be okay, just tired…"

"…hell's fire, werewolf, you saw what happened…"

"…calm down? And how did he…"

"…thought he was just a useless…don't know why he was kept in the group…"

"…never thought of telling him to…"

John crawled slowly back to consciousness aware of snatches of garbled dialogue taking place somewhere to his right. Above him. Other than words, the room seemed to be filled by some faint hissing sound, and he panicked for a moment before recalling that the sound it resembled most was the forced ventilation of a room… but the recollection of what room it was seemed to be swept away in the sudden deluge of detail. He was aware of every single part of himself, and the sensations – the soft sink of the pillow that the weight of his head had created, the damping feel of a heavy quilt around his shoulders, something warm and large and alive on his feet. The second thing he was aware of was how incredibly…_energetic_ he felt. His entire body seemed to be full of it, and he felt that if he didn't attempt to do something, it'd leak out in waves. _Bloody hell_…what happened? Everything was beginning to remind him of the time when he'd gotten a blood transfusion from a demon, against his will…

"He's waking up." The speaker sounded like Entreri. 

"How do you know?" Arundel asked curiously.

Entreri snorted. "I can hear it. His breathing changed."

"So he's just pretending to be asleep?" Yoshimo spoke. He sounded amused, damn him.

"Either that or he needs some encouragement. I vote for cold water. Or we could set fire to him, that always works."

"I'll kill you someday, elf," John said conversationally, opening his eyes. He was inside one of the rooms in C'halhn's inn, probably…the god-awful tapestry certainly looked familiar, as did the four-poster bed and the ancient furniture that looked like C'halhn had done his designing by watching old gothic movies. Yoshimo, Entreri and Arundel were staring at him, with the thief seated in a chair with that strange posture of his, spine ramrod straight hands neatly on his lap, Entreri slouching against the wall feet nearly-but-not-quite flat on the ground, and Arundel in mid-pace, hands in a scissors on his back. The panther was purring ecstatically on his feet while limiting blood access to his toes by its weight. With some effort, he yanked his feet out from underneath it, and gritted his teeth as his feet reminded him, via the pricking sensation of blood rushing into them, that they were part of him. The panther purred more loudly. John flashed the finger at it.

"You'd have to catch me first." Arundel winked, then smiled in relief. "Gods, I was afraid that you went into a coma."

John was mildly surprised that the term 'coma' existed in this medieval world, and sat up quickly. His trenchcoat was gone, and he experienced another wave of panic before he realized that it was draped on the hat stand near the door. He'd be damned if he had to lose it on a world where there wasn't a single bloody clothes store that sold _normal_ clothing. "Million dollar question, mate – what the hell happened?"

"Million dollar?" Arundel looked blank, but let it pass. "After what Bodhi…did, something odd happened. You began behaving like a cliché from one of those hero-novels that some people seem to adore reading…"

John blinked. "What did I do?" 

"First you began to glow. I mean it – your skin seemed to be covering some sort of inner blue fire…rather pretty, and if it were green you would have resembled those firefly things…" Yoshimo stopped when John made as if to get off the bed and strangle him. "Ah, yes. Never mind about fireflies. You nearly scared the fur off Guen here, though." Even with features not designed for self-expression, the panther managed to shoot John a look that was distinctly reproachful.

"And then?" John pressed, wearily. This really _was_ beginning to sound like a cliché. "Let me guess, I burst into flames? Destroyed the place? And then fainted?"

Entreri managed to seem faintly surprised. "You knew what was happening?"

"Bloody hell," John groaned, covering his head with his hands. 

"Actually what precisely happened was that a huge, blue phoenix of fire rose from you and spread its wings, then all the vampires died," Arundel said succinctly. "Including Ytoller and company, I must say. When all of them were destroyed the phoenix disappeared, and you collapsed and hit your head a little too hard on the ground…"

"You left out the part where they all caught fire," Entreri pointed out helpfully. "And then broke up into dust."

"What I find really strange is that a phoenix is technically a feminine symbol," Yoshimo grinned at John's murderous expression at _that_ contribution. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"And how did you suddenly come up with so much magic?" Entreri asked, his voice carefully neutral. 

John shrugged. "I have no bloody idea." Actually, he did…all those 'battles' in his mind ever since he'd gotten onto this sad place where here was no Silk Cut and nothing that seemed familiar probably had something to do with it... He tried to pull back the skeins of memory, but the weaving fell apart.

"What about Y'vair?" John asked flatly, remembering something. Oddly enough, there was a certain numbness in the memory, instead of grief. If he looked at it closely enough, he knew that he'd realize that he never actually loved her…which wasn't truly surprising. He hadn't loved some of his girlfriends…though he missed all of them. Though how much he felt for one he could measure on his After She Leaves scale – from one, 'bloody happy', to ten, 'thoroughly buggered'… the elf was speaking?

"Dead. We gave her a funeral yesterday." Arundel said, studying John's face closely.

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Sorry I couldn't be there."

"A surprising number of people turned up," Arundel continued. "Among them is a priestess that's going to join the party."

"Why?" John asked suspiciously. Too many things were happening! That had to be it… why he felt so _damned_ unraveled…

"I don't like the idea," Entreri muttered. "She's strange in the head."

"She'd be useful," Arundel pointed out. "Clerics can cast healing and such…besides, I know of this one, and she's known for her…abilities."

"Acting hawk-like and not talking unless it's a life and death situation?"

"Well, she _is_ a were-hawk. You're a werewolf. And you don't really talk that much yourself, normally," Arundel said innocently. "She's a Priestess of Akadia… That Goddess doesn't particularly care about her followers, and this Priestess won't go around preaching to you. I've met her before, she's quite decent."

"I repeat," John folded his arms. "Why the _hell_ is she joining the party? If it's something about revenge and so on, I'm going to be sick."

Yoshimo grinned sheepishly. "Right. Just don't do it on the carpet, okay?"

"Jesus _Christ_…" John sank into the pillow. "Doesn't it seem bloody strange to you?"

"What does? You mean you suspect her…" Entreri asked curiously.

"No, not her. It's like we're pawns on some _bloody_ board game. _I'm_ doing things that I wouldn't do before I came onto this goddamned world…getting involved in bloody _stupid_ fights, going on bloody _stupid_ quests, helping bloody _stupid_ people…and we're all being led by the nose along some path like a damned monopoly game! Next stop, Trafalgar-goddamned-Square, pay rent…" John paused when he realized everyone was staring at him. "Fine. Maybe I hit my head really hard."

"Actually what you're saying is quite interesting," Arundel said encouragingly. "Go on?"

John looked at the panther, which was licking its paw and ignoring him, and sighed. "When we were going to Bodhi's crypt, I didn't want to go. I was going to use Synchronicity to bugger off and come back when the lot of you returned, and before coming to this world I'd have been able to fix it so that you lot wouldn't go ballistic if I did. But whenever I tried I seemed to lose control of my feet." John glared at the panther again, as though it was its fault. It purred at him. 

"And when Y'vair dies, we get a new 'member' immediately." Yoshimo said, frowning. "Who do you think is doing this? Irenicus?"

"I doubt that he has this sort of power," Arundel paced around, clanking at every step. "Ah well. Does it matter?"

"'Does it matter'?!" John's voice rose a notch. "Whoever these damned bastards are, they're making me do things I don't _want_ to do, and it pisses the hell out of me!" 

"Can you do anything about it?" Arundel pointed out reasonably. "No? Then I suggest we play along for a while. Everything's been very…straightforward so far, I must say," he added, "True. It's almost like we're following a single path with few possible branches."

"So. What are we going to do next?" John asked sarcastically. "Kill some giant mutant roaches terrorizing some town I've never heard of and don't bloody care about? Chase after pixies?"

"C'halhn located Saemon Havarian, actually," Arundel grinned. "We're going to Brynnlaw."

"He actually agreed to take us there?" John asked disbelievingly. "Didn't he have some problems with…"

"The problems were quickly forgotten when Entreri 'persuaded' him that they were minor compared to what would happen to him if he made Entreri angry," Yoshimo smiled widely. 

"Thank you," Entreri said modestly.

"So when are we leaving?" John asked.

"Tomorrow, when we finish getting supplies together," Arundel replied.

"Right, then I'm going to sleep some more," John stated, ignoring the new little voice in his head that seemed to be encouraging him to draw from his energy and do something, whatever he wanted, magic beyond his dreams…

John rather doubted that. His dreams tended to be expansively strange. He closed his eyes…

**

…And realized he was in London. For a moment he felt extremely confused, until he realized that the place had a certain sharpness of quality and lack of discernable smell that he usually associated with dream images. Besides, there wasn't anyone around at all, nor was there the distant sound of cars and people or any part of the discordant harmony of life, just a cold, dead silence. Looking around, he realized that he was at Paddington, outside his old accommodations… 

Nothing but bad memories. Images of the dead – Mighty Mouse, Mrs. McGuire… and the extremely stupid thing he did in it involving the Three, and more importantly, the First of the Fallen. 

The battered rock made the building seem as dilapidated as ever, but the oddest thing was that every window, through the boards nailed onto them, was glowing blue, like some stupid fancy lantern.

: _John Constantine?_ :

What the hell?

: _Come in, John Constantine. I have something to tell you._ :

Whatever it was, the weird, sexless disembodied voice seemed to be coming from the building, and he got the feeling that it was trying its damnedest to be reassuring. There wasn't anything reassuring that John could see about entering this building of all buildings in his memory, so he glanced down the street, wondering if he could turn and run…

: _There's nowhere to go, Constantine. _:

"Why here? Who the hell are you?"

: _This is as good a place as any… and I am called Arcana. Don't you want to know about the Blue Phoenix, Constantine?_ :

"Maybe," John reached into his pocket out of habit, and to his surprise, encountered a rectangular shape that…_yes_… was a packet of Silk Cut. He lit one cigarette and inhaled contentedly. 

: _That was for you. Now why don't you come up to your room, Constantine? I won't hurt you…_ :

John smoked in silence for a while.

He didn't have anything to lose, did he?

This was a dream. Dreams take place in the Dreaming… and John had the right of Passage there. If anything went flipside, he could bugger off in a heartbeat.

Or could he? Perhaps this wasn't a dream, but…

Awww, to hell with it all.

"All right."

**

As if he still needed further convincing that this wasn't the London he loved and hated, the inside of the building was markedly different from the actual one. The sense of pure evil was gone, and though the place was still as dirty as he remembered it, everything seemed to emit a soft blue light that he began to find annoying after a while. He felt like shouting 'I get the point already! Blue light, fine! Stop!' but he didn't, because he'd probably start laughing his ass off, and anger whatever was here. Climbing up the staircase whose boards groaned in protest at his weight, he reached his room, and entered.

There was a large bird standing in it, which seemed to be made of blue fire. Its long, slender neck arched back a little, displaying the ruff of feathers that all seemed to have some weird patterns on them. The long beak ended in a sharp point, and the graceful crest on the head of eight long feathers had a small sapphire in the middle of each quill, that winked like eight small, beady eyes whenever the bird turned its head. The wings, folded on its back, still brushed the floor with the long flight feathers, and the tail was made of eight extremely long and delicate-looking feathers of intricate design that vaguely resembled peacock feathers, if you took away all the frills from these confections. And they were that – confections – John knew they couldn't possibly exist. Too fragile, too perfect, not a single filament out of place? Hah yes, this was definitely a dream, or close to one.

The eyes – well, there weren't any eyes, just glowing, almond-shaped pits of blue fire. 

: _Greetings, John Constantine._ : The bird seemed to say; though the beak didn't open. 

"Now, what the hell are you?"

: _Is that any way to talk to your savior, Constantine?_ : The bird…Arcana, was it? It seemed amused.

"I'd talk any way I like to a burning chicken which treats me like a puppet," John retorted, blowing cigarette smoke in its direction. "And you didn't save me from anything."

: _I am not the Phoenix – but I expect you will discover that when she decides to speak with you. Without her, and my intervention that allowed it to incarnate itself within you, the vampires would have overwhelmed you and your…associates. But no matter. I am not the one who is manipulating your actions – like you, I am one of the pawns in the Game._ :

"Game? What game?"

: _I'm not allowed to tell you, Constantine. What I can tell you is how to use this power…and what is wrong with your magic._ :

"So you're behind Synchronicity acting up?"

: _In a way. I am one of the incarnations of the magic that is part of the Prime Material Plane – the realm that you were visiting from your world. Every world usually has one type of magic native to it…yours manifested itself in you as 'synchronicity', as you call it. Every type of magic also wishes to find its way to another world, and gain more…influence. So when you came here, your 'synchronicity' disrupted a lot of things…and naturally I attempted to block it. Whenever I failed, it showed itself up in your dealings with added power…whenever I succeeded, it would not work. It also attempted to block my attempts to use you as a vessel. _:

"So?"

: _We have reached a settlement. I will allow Synchronicity to work for you, and in return, you can wield the Blue Phoenix as a power even when you return to your world. Theoretically, of course – if you anger her, she might just decide to kill you and find herself a new host. _:

John made a mental note to find out about this Phoenix, and thought he heard a liquid trill of amusement somewhere inside his head. "What's the catch?"

: _You have a really nasty little mind, Constantine._ : Arcana seemed appreciative. : _You will have to use the Phoenix often in your world…the exact frequency has yet to be worked out. She will inform you of it. _:

: _As to how you use her…actually I suggest that you learn how to control how much power you let out. Giving her total free reign, like in the crypt, would black you out for several days. She has her own…sentience, and if you will her to appear without instruction she will do what she thinks would best help you. Instructions are actually formality – they have not much sway over her – but for some reason I cannot fathom, she likes you, so it would be unlikely that she will do you harm. The power, in my opinion is best used in the casting of standard spells in this Realm – Burning Hands, Polymorph Other, and such. You may only use spells that you have 'taken' from scrolls… so far I believe you have a few already… Mirror Image and such. _:

"And how do I go about…"

: _If you'd stop interrupting me, you'd find out. Just think of the spell and will it out. It's simple, even for you mortals, and the Phoenix will guide you. Powerful – and so difficult – spells like _Wish_ would drain you… and some would take you some time to cast. You'd learn this sort of information from the scrolls you might happen to read. _:

John wished Arcana would get on with it before he got bored to death. Unfortunately, it rambled on for quite a while about specifics and what he could do and what he couldn't do, and he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing that happened that he remembered was waking up.

The room was empty now, except for a translucent Y'vair perched on the chair that Yoshimo had been sitting on. Bloody hell, not another ghost…

"You know, if you could meet up with the ghosts of my friends in the world where I came from, the lot of you could form some 'Haunt Constantine until he goes Nuts Union'." John said. His mouth still tasted of cigarette smoke… so that 'dream' was one of those semi-real ones again. He hated those.

"I'm glad to see you too, sparrow," Y'vair said dryly. 

"What are you here for?" John sat up in the bed. The panther shifted its weight on the bed, apparently unconcerned.

"I don't have much time. The Death of this world allowed me some for this before I go. Sparrow…when you next meet Zaknafein, ask him about the World-Makers." Y'vair was fading quickly as she spoke. "Good luck."

"No goodbye kiss?" John grinned. 

Y'vair chuckled softly and stepped forward, floating in the air, pressing insubstantial lips against his before fading away.

John rubbed his nose thoughtfully, and realized the panther was staring steadily at him. "What do you think you're looking at, cat?" It ignored him and shook itself, shaking the bed in the process, then draped itself over his knees.

John listened to its purr, and the soothing rumble lulled him into dreamless sleep.

**

He stepped back and looked with satisfaction at his handiwork. A circle of protection, an arm's length in radius, carefully drawn out with a feather pen from a creature of power – in this case, C'halhn claimed, from something called a 'lammasu' – with most of the feather stained red with his blood. That bit had hurt. The circle had been inked in black and though C'halhn had grumbled, he hadn't actually objected.

John stood in the cleared space of the taproom of C'halhn's inn. C'halhn had closed for the day, and he – with the rest of the group, including the priestess, was watching with interest, and had been told not to interfere, or even speak to it if it appeared. The priestess had introduced herself earlier on as Peregrine in a voice that was strangely harsh, and seemed to be indrawn and reserved, but tolerable. John couldn't say that for a lot of people he'd met. 

Her eyes were falcon's eyes, fierce, hungry and rather mad in appearance, and her hair was an unremarkable if glossy brown that did not reach her shoulders. Her face could have been called beautiful, with its symmetry, the slightly upturned nose, the full lips and the defined cheekbones, but the eyes seemed to draw attention away from it. Peregrine wore some sort of jerkin that seemed to consist of many brass-colored scales that looked soft and flexible, caught at the waist with a belt that consisted of large rings of various metals. She wore a leather skirt that brushed the knees and dagger-sheath boots. Like Yoshimo, she also carried a bow and a quiver of arrows, but unlike Yoshimo, other than the daggers in her boots, she had no other weapon. She seemed to prefer to keep to herself, and her silence was such that when she did speak – to tell everyone her name – the words were startling to hear.

Arundel seemed to be explaining to Yoshimo what lammasu were, but John wasn't listening. This particular circle didn't need many other conditions…since he was trying to protect himself from something that was within him. That could be a mixed blessing.

Finally he set one candle inside the circle and lit it, then used the flickering flame to light another candle. This one he set outside the circle. The two candles and himself, in the centre, made one straight line. Since it wasn't getting any earlier, and the wound on his right palm was beginning to hurt, he scratched the wound open a little wider, gritting his teeth, and flicked his palm so that some blood sprayed outside the circle. As he hoped, the droplets did not spatter messily on the ground, but got drawn into the flame of the candle outside like so many deformed moths.

The flame twisted violently, as though a sharp gust of air had disturbed it, then was still. 

For a moment John thought something had gone wrong, then something did. 

Blue fire roared out of the flame, completely consuming the candle. The others swore and retreated, but John stood firm, and crossed his arms. Whatever the Phoenix was had been powerful enough to manifest consume the candle whose fire was supposed to hold its image, but he'd be damned if he had to be afraid of it because of that.

"You took your bloody time coming," he said, as the flame towered high to touch the ceiling, scorching the wood but not setting it alight. The heat must have been incredible, judging by the muttered comments from those behind him, but he didn't feel it. Well, that was something, anyway.

The fire seemed to branch into three in the centre, laboriously, and then the Blue Phoenix stood on the floor. Wherever it…_she_ touched, the surface smoked and sizzled, but did not ignite. John could sense something different about it now – this was certainly not Arcana, but there was an otherworldly intelligence that he just knew was far greater than his own. Now, why did he always have to associate with these sorts of creatures…?

The Phoenix looked him up and down familiarly, the great head bobbing nearly ridiculously, like a proud cockerel, and then she spoke. The voice was congenial if formal; the accent was strange – nearly Irish, oddly enough, but not quite – and distinctly feminine. "Thou didst call me, Master Constantine? Thou hast no need to shield thyself from me. I assure thee, I mean thee no harm."

"Bloody hell," John said before he could help himself. "Why do I always have run-ins with people who talk like Shakespearean theatre rejects?"

The Phoenix arched her long neck back, as if in shock, and John heard C'halhn mutter "Out-worlder fool" behind him, and the panther growled a warning. 

But when she spoke again, there was a distinct trace of delighted amusement. "Well, all my wielders so far seemed to like me speaking like that. Especially when there was an audience." The Phoenix tipped her head at the others. "So, what did you call me out for? I'm touched that you went to all that effort, but I'm afraid to say it's quite useless, really. A few thousand years ago I might even have taken offense."

John shrugged. "Thought it might come in handy. I wanted to ask you some questions."

The Phoenix moved her head down such that she was around eye-level with John. "Very well… remember, I am not obligated to answer, if you want to ask weird questions about life and death...or the exact value of pi. I hate those."

John grinned. "I think we'd get along just fine. Now, I'm really curious to know where you stay inside me."

"Your soul. Next question."

"That was a short answer."

"You didn't specify length," the Phoenix pointed out a little smugly. It seemed that she was enjoying this. "If you want, I can talk about it until this world's sun burns out."

"Ah… no thank you. So, do I call you 'Blue Phoenix' or 'Phoenix' or…"

"'Blue Phoenix' is just a title. There are three of us. I create, Yellow Phoenix maintains, and Red Phoenix destroys. We're one of the aspects of continuity. My favorite name is Meridian, but if you like you can call me Meri." 

"This world really operates on cliches, doesn't it?"

"Why not? Cliches are an important part of continuity. They're in everything, they influence everything, and they are the spokes of the wheel of reality and unreality. Existence depends on cycles – eventually, when the worlds end, they will return to the darkness absolute that was the absolute in the beginning, and the cycle will start again." 

"So, how powerful are you?" John ignored the rambling discourse.

Meridian – Meri – cocked her head to a side. "What is power? If power is the ability to weave gold out of the air, I have it – if power is the ability to live, breathe, die, I do not have it." 

"And you can stop talking in riddles right now."

"As you wish," Meri said, a little mockingly. "Power… there will be a price on you. You are my conduit, and what I do will have some toll on you, though I will obviously attempt to lessen the impact. Ask me to burn a piece of paper, and you'd feel nothing, but ask me to consume the sun, and you'd drop dead. I know you're going to ask about limits… frankly I don't know what to say to you. You're strong – the strongest one I've had so far, which I find intriguing, because you are mortal and human. The best I can offer is to advise you whenever you want to do something."

"So, when I want to do something…"

"I will know…and I'd give you suggestions." Meri moved her head back a little. "You might even listen to them."

"Right. Can you move Irenicus and K'yanae here right now?" John smirked, and heard Entreri's sharp indrawn breath behind him.

"Sorry, Constantine – you'd rather I call you that than 'Master', yes? They're in Spellhold, and that place is protected with a lot of wards, and some weird sentience constructed of all the minds of the Cowled Wizards that have ever worked there. Pulling them out and moving them here might kill you… and anyway, it's against the rules."

"Rules? What rules?" Entreri demanded. John winced. He had told them not to speak or draw attention to themselves…

Meri clicked her beak, a sound that managed to seem contemptuous, and proceeded to ignore the assassin. 

"I'd like to know as well. What are the rules?" John asked, before the werewolf decided to try and attack Meri.

"World-Maker rules. They have a guideline of what to do and what not to do…"

"So I was right, and this is some buggered idea of a game?"

"Yes." Meri looked away for a moment. "You have been the first in several eons to guess it. Impressive. Your next question would be 'What are World-Makers', I should think… very well. Do you want a long explanation or a short one?"

"I don't live forever, luv."

"Fine. In the Beginning there was nothing, and for some unexplained reason, the World-makers appeared – seven spirits of color – silver, gold, red, green, blue, gray and black, which create worlds in their colors. Since their worlds imitate them, so colors and names and incarnations have power – hence the Gods and such. My siblings and I are also imitations of them. Sometimes they decide to play certain games, which need not involve living creatures, or indeed anything at all. Don't ask me, I don't understand that part… and the games usually take place on several stages in several arenas, sometimes over worlds or dimensions, and may take place in a blink of an eye, or in eons. There's something to do with dice, I think – every important event in the game is decided with them." 

"And can we…"

"No, you may try to stop, but you will be compelled to go on." Meri seemed even more amused. "They may coerce you, as you have discovered, or they may set it such that events force you to go where they want to. Even if you seem to succeed in avoiding whatever you had to do, you may find that you're still playing for them anyway."

"So you don't win either way… right. What do we have to do now?"

The Phoenix ruffled its wings. "You know it already. You must go to Brynnlaw on the ship of Saemon Havarian. Which will leave with the next tide, so I suggest you start getting ready soon." 

"And it ends there?"

"Nothing ever ends."

"You're not answering."

"I know," Meri said smugly. "And I won't. What happens there depends anyway – there's no definite outcome, and no definite future. You should know that. Your friend Mr. E…"

"He's not my friend," John said automatically. 

"Whatever. Anyway, Mr. E may have told you that, had you ever bothered to try talking to him normally instead of insulting him all the time." Meri said comfortably. "There are no definite futures."

"I heard you the first time." John grinned as Meri clicked her beak again. 

"Pfft. I was just trying to hammer it home."

He was beginning to like the Phoenix – as strange as she seemed to be. "Wait, is this your full incarnation? Then…"

"No, you're not going to faint," Meri seemed even more amused now. "You specified that quite clearly."

"I did?"

"Subconsciously. I can listen to that, too. You can ask me what you're feeling now, if you like," Meri said hopefully. 

"What for? I already know that."

"Okay then, since you're so clever, Mister I Know That Already, would you like to know which alignments of World-Makers you and your friends are playing for?"

"Wait, I know this one. It's lawful-bloody-good, isn't it?" John drawled. "It's always how the plot goes. Good and evil, and then we win and ride off into the sunset, innit?"

"Actually, you lot are on the side of evil."

--

Little Notes and References:

__

John's language: Is getting worse, because I've just read Lucifer (the first trade paperback) twice. His accent is also beginning to surface slightly. I accuse the Constantine list (grins). So many people 'speaking' like him…

__

Stupid thing in Paddington: I've probably said this already, but I still thing it's cool. John blackmailed the ruling triumvirate of Hell into curing him of terminal lung cancer… selling his soul to all three of them without any of them knowing what he did. So if they attempted to 'collect' if he died, there'd be a war in Hell, which they can't afford. Of course, later the First of the Fallen murdered the other two…so John would be in big trouble if he ever happened to die (i.e. his soul goes to Hell). Anyway, the really stupid thing was flipping the Three the Finger after they cured him of cancer so as to prevent him from dying. 

__

The Phoenix: Yeah, I know it sounds very X-men. Sorry.


	17. Do you know anything...?

Chapter 14

Do you know anything…?

"Ah," John paused. "So Irenicus is 'good'?" His smile was sardonic; speaking of a vein of irony that had arisen from that simple statement that he found he rather enjoyed. "Someone must have changed the definitions when I wasn't looking."

"Theoretically… no, he's just on the side of 'good', because he's one of the pawns for the World-Makers of 'good alignment' – which is something I don't particularly understand, since not all of them consistently show conventionally 'good' behavior. Alignment doesn't define them, like it doesn't define our actions." Meri replied. Through all her speech, the only parts of her that moved were the serpentine neck and the sleek head – the rest of the flame-wrought body was eerily still. If not for the heat and the light that the bird produced, John would have thought that the creature was just carved of crystal, so perfect were the feathers, without the curls and wisps that he normally associated with free-burning naked flame. 

"Excuse me, Lady," Arundel spoke respectfully, also a little overawed by the pure _presence_ of Meridian – she dominated the room, drawing all attention towards her, moths to a flame. "But…"

"Yes, I know you lot are anxious to be going," Meri interrupted, again giving the impression that other than John, she was paying the rest as much attention as one would pay attention to an individual grass stalk in a vast field. "Anything else you wish to ask me?"

"Would you know anything about Irenicus' intentions… or his real name?" John had asked Yoshimo whether the thief knew the last question, and he hadn't. Nor had Arundel or any of his contacts…and John was wondering if name-magic worked here.

"His intentions?" Meri tipped her head to one side. "Hmmm. I cannot tell you, nor can I tell you his name. That you _may _find out later."

"But you know it?"

Meri did not answer, but carefully began to groom one flight feather until John sighed and broke the silence. "Fine. More rules?"

"Ah! You are beginning to understand. I was wondering if I had chosen well." Meri said happily, and John could not decide whether or not she was mocking him. "The tide will go in a few hours, and I suggest the lot of you go to the docks immediately." She twitched her head, stirring the gorgeous crest whose embedded sapphires twinkled like so many grotesque eyes, then abruptly disappeared. Only the scorch marks remained as evidence that the encounter had actually taken place.

John blinked and took a step forward, and heard a voice in his head. : _This is a harder way to communicate… but it would be convenient. You don't mind if I poke around, do you? _:

"I do bloody mind if you 'poke around', thank you!" John snarled. The others stared at him, startled, and he flapped his right hand at them irritably. 

: _You'd look less insane if you just spoke with your mind, :_ Meri commented mildly. 

John decided to ignore her.

"Is she gone?" Yoshimo asked curiously, as John put out the candle flames and picked up the candles. 

John handed the candles to C'halhn and shook his head, and then tapped it in one finger. "In here, apparently."

: _Not really… if I was truly manifest in your head, your blood would have boiled. _:

"So she can hear us?"

"I'm ignoring her," John said shortly, feeling a near-overwhelming sense of irritation, mostly fuelled by the knowledge that he had no control whatsoever over his life at the moment. His strong craving, perhaps it could be called, for independence made him hate his puppet-masters, a hot, bitter and impotent hatred that caused him to want to do something destructive. Before the new stowaway inside his…wherever could comment, John hastily added the thought that whatever he wanted to do that was destructive, he was not going to use his 'new' magic to do it.

: _Spoilsport._ :

**

As they walked to the Docks in the early morning sunshine that drew long shadows on the cobblestones John wondered if he should bother trying to 'scope out' Peregrine. The cleric kept to herself calmly, and didn't seem to be disturbed by Entreri's pointed silence. She only spoke when spoken to – Arundel sometimes was so friendly that he reminded John of a golden retriever – and only mentioned religion and her Goddess when asked about it. She was so self-effacing that it was beginning to get on his nerves.

He had the distinct feeling that she was, while volunteering as little information about herself as possible, gathering as much about them as possible. 

: _Do you want some psychoanalysis? _: Meri asked curiously in his mind. 

: _Will you get the hell out of my head? _: 

: _No. Even if I had a choice, I like it in here. You're…interesting, and I always do this to my wielders, because it's the closest thing to living that I can get to._ : Meri's voice seemed gleeful. : _And I can help you… some of your mental defenses are rather pathetic._ :

: _Get out!_ :

: _Be reasonable, I can't, unless you kill yourself, _: Meri paused. : _And I don't need to remind you where you will go if you tried that. In any case… do you want me to talk about your party members? _:

: _Why don't you just shut up?_ :

: _Fine._ : Meri still seemed unperturbed. : _Don't accuse me of being unhelpful._ :

They passed under the great stone arch that marked the section of the city that was the Docks district, and as if on cue, could hear the distant squawks of seagulls that circled lazily overhead and the shouts of traders. Stone steps, warm in the sunlight led gracefully downwards in large stairs to their left or right, stone arms that curled the upper platform with buildings set in the centre of the district, the one on their right leading to that platform, and the one on the left curving down to the lower platform that led to the ships and the sea. To their left, behind the left stair, was the looming bulk of the headquarters of the Shadow Thieves, though the guards at the many doors to it seemed to be ignoring them. 

"The Docks," Arundel said, somewhat unnecessarily. "Our ship is _Feather's Fate_, ostensibly a merchant ship heading for Calimport. The ship has a rather idiotic name in my opinion, but she looked fast and seaworthy."

"She'd have to be," Entreri said dryly, "Given the number of people out for her captain's blood."

They passed the Thieves guild, ignoring the guards with equamity. It was quite amusing, actually… both sides behaving as though they were schoolgirls and boys that had just broken off some sort of Relationship. 

The lower platform held many stalls, mostly selling fish, the scent not really pleasing - John noticed Entreri in particular trying to hold his breath, but the panther purred and looked hopefully up at John, nudging his leg with one large paw.

"I don't believe you really _like_ that stuff," John muttered down at it. "See the flies?"

It sniffed, jerking its chin away from him as though in disdain. 

Crates had been stacked haphazardly on the slicked cobblestones here, and the smell of the sea – salt, water and rubbish – was battling with the smell of fish for dominion. Ships had been moored to the various jetties, and it was with some difficulty that they managed to pick out _Feather's Fate_ from the forest of masts. Dodging through the crowd, they made it through into the ship, her crew shooting them suspicious looks – though they seemed to be ignoring the golem. Arundel must have fiddled with something again. One man – Yoshimo identified him as the first mate – directed them to go below deck to the captain's cabin to meet Saemon.

The ship was all graceful lines and scrubbed surfaces, and even the crew did not look as disreputable as John had unconsciously thought them to be. He had somehow identified Saemon with the conventional image of 'pirate', and decided that he had probably been influenced by too much of the wrong sort of literature. 

Below decks, the corridor seemed somewhat cramped, though wide enough to move crates through. Probably allowing maximum space for storage and armament, John thought, remembering the neat square hatches at spaced intervals on the side of the ship for cannons. Some of the sailors below deck that they met directed them to an unremarkable door near the front end (there was probably a nautical term for this, but John couldn't be bothered to find out) of the ship.

Entreri knocked on the door, and after a beat, someone inside said, "Come in."

As they filed into the room, John noted that the 'cabin' didn't seem to belong to the interior of a ship at all. The floor, different from the dull planking outside, was smooth, polished mahogany, at times blanketed with rich carpets that seemed to be the equivalent of Persian carpets. On the walls, also wood-paneled, was a large map of the world, painted skillfully onto canvas and carefully labeled, but other than that, the walls were unadorned and seemed starkly blank. The wall directly to the north of them consisted of several large French windows, though they obviously could not be opened, and the heavy curtains with their rich tassels had been pulled back to allow the sunlight to filter in. There was a glass coffee table in the centre with scrolls stacked haphazardly on it, flanked by two comfortable-looking, brown leather sofas and a love seat, close to a neat bed at the east wall with rich black satin sheets. 

"Greetings," Saemon said, his voice carefully flat, neither threatening nor cheerful. The corsair was sunk into the love seat, watching them warily. He was dressed in a sky-blue doublet with breeches of a darker shade and leather boots that reached above his ankles, apparently unarmed. Other than a ruby ring on the ring finger of his right hand, he wore no jewelry or any other adornment. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that hinged on being violet, and his short blond hair was straight and neat, giving his head a rather sleek appearance. His features could conventionally be called handsome, well formed and symmetrical…it fit part of his image as a womanizer.

John nodded slightly. If Saemon wanted to play, they could as well. "Nice of you to take us free-of-charge to Brynnlaw, Captain," he said, straight-faced.

"What can I say?" Saemon shrugged. "Your werewolf friend was _very _persuasive. Do sit down." His eyes swept over them one by one, and came to rest on Peregrine curiously.

Entreri put a hand on John's shoulder before he could, and touched the leather of the sofas, then looked them over searchingly. "These used to…"

"Be trapped, yes, but I removed them," Saemon said, pointing at a small pile of evil-looking mechanisms under the table. "I knew you would be able to see them if they had been set, but how you actually realized that they had been…"

Entreri snorted. "The material of the seats are obviously slightly lower than their intended height." He sat down on one sofa, cautiously, and the rest followed his example. Well, nothing happened…

: _Saemon's not so stupid as to try and kill the lot of you while you're still so close to him. _: Meri remarked. John ignored her.

"We'd set sail in half an hour or so," Saemon said in a manner of introduction. "Your rooms will be shown to you later – I trust they would be comfortable."

"We'd be sure to check them for traps as well," Yoshimo said drily. 

"You have nothing to fear from this ship, myself, or my crew," Saemon said coolly. "The ships of the Black Talons currently do not venture this far, but I am sure that if the lot of you disappear I would not be able to hide from them." This last was said with a glance at Entreri, who nodded grimly. "I will take you to Brynnlaw as agreed, then we will part ways from there."

"Do you know anything of Irenicus?" Arundel asked. 

"Other than he is a powerful mage? Little. I do not know what he strives for or why he has kidnapped the lady K'yanae."

"He kidnapped her?" Entreri frowned.

"I apologize," Saemon said smoothly. "I meant _at first_, before the Cowled Wizards intervened. I also know nothing else about how to get into Spellhold, but you might want to find the wizard Talik in Brynnlaw – I've heard that he is about to attempt to leave the Cowled Wizards, and he might be happy to give you some information about them. Or you could ask the Pirate Lord himself, if you can get an audience with him."

"And about Bodhi? I think it's quite strange that a guild war starts around the same time that evidences of Irenicus' existence in Athkatla came up," Entreri said coldly. Apparently there had been some information that the assassin hadn't shared with them. Evidences? What evidences? Or was the assassin just playing a bluff?

Saemon looked down at his hands for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Bodhi is Irenicus' sister," he said, his tone as flat as ever.   
"What?" Arundel blinked. "But she's a vampire!"

"That has nothing to do with why they are brother and sister."

Some thing seemed to click together. Irenicus' poise – the last time he had seen that sort of grace, the person in question had been elven – a certain relative of his that was an alternate-world Zaknafein. It probably explained the grotesque skullcap as well, which served to hide the ears… but why would Irenicus want to hide his elven heritage?

"Irenicus is an elf?" Arundel seemed to have some difficulty in catching up. "Well, well."

"Why?" John asked.

"Bodhi is from Suldanesselar. So it stands to reason that Irenicus is from Suldanesselar as well… and the family Irenicus there is quite old." Arundel frowned, deep in thought. "I thought at first that it was just a coincidence that the Irenicus we know and that family had the same surname. Strange. Members of the family are revered and close to the Queen. Though I haven't kept track of it or its descendants, I wonder why…" Arundel looked at Saemon for an explanation.

"I don't know anything else," Saemon said, glancing nervously at Entreri, who was playing with the hilt of Vortex. "I swear."

"They wished to be whole again," Peregrine spoke suddenly. "I heard Irenicus speak of that when he was…experimenting." 

Ah yes. She had said something about having been an 'experiment' like John, Y'vair and K'yanae had been. Apparently there had been laboratories secreted around Amn.

"Whole?" John grasped, not understanding. "What?"

"I do not know," Peregrine flushed slightly. "I apologize for my ignorance."

The frightening thing about that, John thought, was that she actually seemed to mean it.

: _Of course she does. Peregrine is at once complex and uncomplicated. _:

:_ Shut up._ :

Saemon's eyebrows knitted for a brief moment as he glanced at Peregrine, then he turned his head away. 

"If they are members of the Irenicus family as I know it," Arundel said, "Then I truly do not understand why they have left Suldanesselar, or why they have turned into what they are – were, in Bodhi's case – today." 

"Maybe they were kicked out," John suggested. "From the city."

"That could be it…but they must have done something truly terrible," Arundel stared off into space for a moment. "To be whole again… the elves could not have done that, surely… Sorry," he smiled sheepishly at the others. "My brain was wandering."

"Do go on," Entreri twitched his fingers at the elf irritably. 

"Ah yes. I was just thinking – one of the punishments for crimes that deserve a fate 'worse than death' for Suldanesselar – that I've heard, mind you – is the removal of what makes an elf an elf. Don't ask me what that is – I don't know anything else about it," Arundel made a face. "Even though I _am_ an elf. Apparently it's such a terrible punishment that most victims die from the process, or kill themselves afterwards, because, to quote something I read that mentioned this once – their years of life afterward are hollow and without meaning." 

: _They lose their soul, is that it?_ : John pushed a question in his mind grudgingly.

: _Yes. You've lost yours before… half of yours, at least, so I think you'd understand what the elves feel._ :

: _Is that what happened to Irenicus and Bodhi, then? _:

: _Maybe._ : Meri seemed smug. 

: _So they're catching people to try and pry their souls out of them? _:

: _Maybe._ :

: _I'm wasting my time talking to you, right? _:

: _Maybe._ :

After talking a little more about the subject, the ship lurched suddenly, and began to move. Saemon nodded idly. "I cannot show myself on deck until we're a good ways out of sight of Athkatla. I hope you will enjoy your journey." This last was said with a definite tone of dismissal.

"We'd know where to find you when we want you to fetch something," John agreed, smirking, as he got up. "Don't go too far."

"Quite." Saemon said, a touch of annoyance entering his voice for the first time. 

**

John quickly lost count of the days since they left Athkatla. It seemed pointless to try… and after the novelty of having a floor that didn't stay stable wore off; he proceeded to be bored. Mainly he lurked inside the cramped cabin that he had to share with Yoshimo and the panther and attempted to sleep, despite the cat's frequent endeavors in getting him to accompany it above decks. John couldn't see what the point of that was either – all one could see was a vast expanse of sea – and several large, foul-smelling sailors that shouted at each other. Besides, he had the knack of getting into people's way, unintentional or not, and he didn't particularly want one of those six-foot-tall, muscle-bound apes to lose his temper and hurl him overboard.

Entreri seemed equally bored – bored enough to agree to learn how to play dice and some card games with Yoshimo and Arundel. John sometimes watched them, but never joined in – in games of chance, he usually won. Cheating with magic was amusing, but it tended to upset the opponents, and those three were heavily armed all the time. John sometimes wondered if they wore their weapons to sleep – Yoshimo certainly always kept his katana in arm's reach of his bunk.

The golem was apparently somewhere in the hold, the only place large enough to keep it without it getting into the way most of the time. The sailors didn't – couldn't – notice it, after all. 

At this point of time, John watched Arundel deal out cards. The four of them were in John's cabin, with Arundel sitting next to John on the lower bunk, Entreri cross-legged on the floor and Yoshimo on the only chair. The panther lay on the upper bunk, with only the occasional rumble of a purr to signal that it was still there. 

"Where _is_ that cleric?" Entreri asked as they played, with little curiosity in his voice. Peregrine could never be found during the daytime, even for meals, and was only around for dinner. She had one cabin to herself, though it usually didn't look slept-in. John felt some surprise that it was the assassin who asked this, since Entreri usually ignored her as much as possible.

Arundel shrugged. "Where she goes is probably her own business, unless you want to spend time trying to follow her."

Entreri snorted. "Her? Hah."

"You still haven't said why you dislike her." Yoshimo smiled innocently when Entreri glared at him. 

"I don't dislike her," Entreri said, staring at his hand of cards. Occasionally he would change their positions. "I find her presence uncomfortable. She reminds me of what could happen if I… give in too much to my other self." The assassin seemed to be grasping at words to explain this. 

"The wolf?" John clarified.

"Yes." Entreri leant against the wall. "I bid four of swords."

Yoshimo made a face. "Pass." He rubbed his nose. "I agree, she acts very much like a falcon-turned-human, instead of the other way around. The way she walks and moves…but why does that happen?"

"Why?" Entreri frowned at Arundel's bid of wands. "Pass." He watched Arundel put down a card, then conscientiously picked out one from his hand. "Many reasons. Other than the things that can go wrong during the Turning – if it is traumatic, it could damage the link between the selves, and so on… there are other factors, such as in the first few unstable weeks or months. When you make some sort of…agreement with your other side. Sometimes, if you don't have guidance from an older were, you may make disadvantageous agreements… like giving the other self too much influence in your movements."

"This agreement… like a treaty?" Arundel asked curiously. "Is it different for everyone?"

"In fine detail, yes," Entreri shrugged. "Take K'yanae and Zaknafein. K'yanae seems to operate on…mutual consent from both herself and the wolf. Every action is agreed on, whether in wolf form or…humanoid form. The wolf can help with strength or speed spontaneously, and K'yanae is an active observer when in wolf form – if she wants she can influence the movements."

"Zaknafein, on the other hand – he seems to be totally committed to self-control and independence, and his wolf is the same. They started off hating each other, I believe, fighting every time on which shape to be in. It took years to actually come up with an agreement – specifically, that Zaknafein has control over shape in the day, and the wolf has control over shape at night. He can still take wolf shape in the day, or elf shape at night, but in the day, he has the final say on what shape, and so on. There are no spontaneous actions from either side – each side must ask first… basically, his relationship with his wolf is different." 

"Which is better?" John found himself asking, interested.

"Better? It depends on your personality, I was told," Entreri watched, hawk-like, as Yoshimo drew a card. "K'yanae enjoys having a sort of dual personality that is at the same time, one whole – while Zaknafein finds the very idea abhorrent. He is fiercely separate…a whole in himself, and his wolf the same." Entreri shrugged. "Both relationships seem to work perfectly well."

"And yours?" Arundel hesitated. "If you don't mind us prying."

"I haven't come to a definite agreement yet," Entreri's expression seemed to darken. "At the moment the both of us have only agreed that we must work together to free K'yanae. After that – we will seek…guidance from her." He looked at the cards again. "I play eight of cups."

Since the rest of them had the definite idea that he didn't want to talk about this, the conversation was diverted onto more neutral veins of talk, such as where the best daggers came from. Eventually John leant against the wall and dozed off, lulled by the chatter. The welcome darkness was broken when he heard Meri's voice in his head.

: _Wake up. I think you want to hear this._ :

John blinked and straightened up; rubbing his eyes, and grumbled in his mind at the phoenix. He realized that Yoshimo was speaking. 

"…And where have you been?"

Peregrine stood in the doorway, a quirk at the side of her mouth that could be a smile or a grimace. "Flying. It's a beautiful day."

"Is there something wrong?" John irritably attempted to chase away the vestiges of sleep and a cramped back.   
"Nothing much… just that I'd thought you'd like to know that Saemon Havarian is avoiding other ships. It's rather clear from a thousand feet up." Peregrine explained. 

"Ah. But Saemon is a pirate, so I'd think…" John stopped. Who was he to say anything, having never encountered this sort of pirate before? "Then again, you have a point."

Peregrine's quirk turned into a smile for a fleeting moment. "Saemon has something in his possession that he seems quite afraid of. Him avoiding the other ships may have something to do with it."

"What is it?" Arundel asked.

"It's the blade of a rapier." Peregrine tapped her chin, thinking. "And it seems to be made of silver, some sort of silver alloy that doesn't tarnish and stays sharp. Other than that, I can't seem to find anything unusual about it." 

"How do you know he's afraid of it?"

"By what he said, apparently some things – a lot of things – are looking for the blade. What they are, and what it is, he hasn't said."

"You've been talking to him? Entreri raised an eyebrow. He sniffed once, then frowned. "You smell _of_ him."

Peregrine nodded, the jerky action very bird-like. "I thought you might pick that up, werewolf."

"What _have_ you been doing?" John asked, his tone a little cold.

: _Let her explain, Constantine._ :

Peregrine's mouth quirked upwards at the side again. "Gathering information. There's little else to do, and Saemon Havarian _is _interesting."

"You've been sleeping with him," Entreri said bluntly. 

"I have," Peregrine admitted equably. "As I said, he is interesting." She stepped into the cabin and closed the door. 

: _Ward the room against prying ears, Constantine._ :

: _How? _: 

: _You're actually listening to me! I am so touched._ : Meri seemed to laugh inside his mind, amused. : _You do it like this…_ :

John's fingers moved of their own volition, apparently, tracing symbols in the air. As the rest looked at him in surprise, the walls, ceiling and floor glowed briefly in blue, then seemed to return back to normal.

"Impromptu lesson one: warding against eavesdroppers," he said, as a manner of explanation. 

: _No 'thank you', or 'that was lovely'? _:

: _I thought I had to learn spells from scrolls? _:

: _You don't have to, actually… but that would extend your…repertoire. _:

"Useful," Peregrine nodded. "So. He was attempting to splinter me from the group. It was quite amusing listening to him."

"And his arguments…?"

"That the lot of you were headed towards certain death," Peregrine's expression was inscrutable. "I was bored, so I played along, until he mentioned a few things I thought you mind find interesting. He works for Irenicus."

Arundel sighed. "Somehow, with this group, nothing seems surprising anymore."

"And apparently there's a surprise waiting for you on the docks of Athkatla in the form of vampires, so I'd suggest we be careful," Peregrine said.

"What if we arrive in the day?" John asked.

"We wouldn't, if he can time it correctly," Peregrine replied drily, "And I have every confidence that he can." She seemed unused to speaking so much, and appeared uncomfortable. "I will continue to play along with him for a while…until it ceases to amuse."

"It's rather dangerous, isn't it?" Arundel asked worriedly. "What if he finds out?"

Peregrine shrugged. "Well, if I suddenly disappear without a trace, you'd know who to approach." She seemed either unaware of the fact that she could die, or uncaring of it. 

"Did we keep stakes, or holy water?" Arundel asked mildly.

"I can make holy water," Peregrine smiled. "But stakes…"

"Arundel, Yoshimo and I don't need them," Entreri tapped the hilt of his falchion in emphasis. "You and Constantine can keep out of the way…unless Constantine wants to pull another stunt like the one in Bodhi's crypt." He raised an eyebrow at John.

"Thanks, but no thanks," John said dryly, "Blacking out for a few days tends to lose its novelty after a while." 

**

When Peregrine left, Yoshimo asked the standard question. "Can we trust her?"

"There's nothing we can do about it," Entreri spread his cards on the ground neatly. "I call Game."

Yoshimo and Arundel looked. Arundel sighed. "Game to you." He put down his cards. 

"Same," Yoshimo passed his cards to Arundel, who picked up all the cards and started to shuffle. 

"I think she can be trusted," Arundel said, as he expertly manipulated the cards, "But nothing's ever certain, is it? We knew from the start that Saemon would try something. I just hope we'd end up at the right place. At most we'd just refuse to get off the ship until sunrise."

"And how to explain that?" John smirked.

"Well, out-worlder…you could always say it's a custom of yours," Arundel winked. "Talk a bit about terms like 'Earth-Mother' and 'Eye of God', and so on until their eyes glaze over."

"The sailors might try to force us out," Yoshimo pointed out.

"They could try," Entreri bared his teeth in a smile. "Close fighting in enclosed areas would not benefit them… and if I know it, Saemon needs to get out of Brynnlaw quickly after dropping us off, so he cannot afford delays."

"All the more so to try and get us off instead of listening to excuses," John pointed out. 

Arundel shrugged. "Maybe we could tell him beforehand that we can only get off the ship in the sunrise? Or we could just pull him off the deck with us and threaten to cut his throat if anything happens. We don't need him anymore after that, I believe – if the signal device is still with you."

Entreri nodded and patted his pockets. "It's with me." 

They played a few more games, and as John began to doze off again, several sharp raps sounded on the door. "Come in," Arundel said, without looking up.

The door opened to show Peregrine. "I just thought you'd like to know that the sailors think a gale is coming up," she said mildly. 

On cue, the ship rocked suddenly and violently to the right.

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Saemon Havarian: Sorry, I couldn't find his description, so I had to make it up. If he appears in the actual FR fiction books and doesn't match what I've made him out to be here, my apologies…

__

Alternate world Zaknafein: This is the Zaknafein that appears in 'Rebel Heart', and is 'related' to Constantine in the sense that he's a member of that world's Constantine family, known as Con'staen'tyn. 

__

Longsword blade: Yes, I know the Silver Sword is supposed to be a broadsword, but I want it to be a rapier here.


	18. Where is Irenicus?

Chapter 15

Where is Irenicus?

John woke up with a very familiar headache and in a very familiar position. He was curled up into a fetal position, though this time his back was against glass, and his feet as well, instead of metal bars. 

: _Well finally!_ : Meri sang inside his mind, sounding irritated. : _I can't work properly when you're unconscious!_ :

: _I knew there would be a catch. What happened? _: John continued to feign unconsciousness, though this didn't work very well the last time… hell, 'last time'? Had he been caught _again_? It seemed likely – the cat was gone, and probably frantic. John squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. Why the hell was he worrying over how the cat would feel?  
: _A few minutes before docking the lot of you suddenly became unconscious – sort of like a deep sleep. Or rather, all of you save one did… I couldn't feel out which one was the one who was still awake. _: Meri seemed uninterested by that, but seemed bound to continue with something heartening. : _I hope whoever it was got away. _:

John appreciated the sentiment, but other than the vague idea that whoever got away could be coming on rescue, could not muster up any effort to feel concerned about it, with his own skin on the line at the moment. He cautiously opened his eyes, and nearly let out a sigh. : _Bloody hell, this looks like some soddin' science-fiction movie! _: 

He was in a glass jar that would allow him to stand straight, but was just about as cramped as the cage he had first woken up in when he'd come to this world. Beyond the glass, which distorted his view a little – it was sort of like looking through a fish bowl, only less so – he could see a wide rectangular cleared surface with a tiled metal floor. As he stood up, he noticed the ominous looking cabling snaking away from under the upraised platform that his jar was on into other jars that lined the metal floor at uniform spaces – John counted about thirteen of them, and each had a human inside it.

No one he recognized, actually – but he vaguely remembered that uniform all of them seemed to be wearing. It took him a moment to realize that it was the uniform of Shadow Thieves – the black leather armor. All of them looked rather frightened, which was rather expected, given the guinea-pig circumstances.

: _Will magic work on this?_ : John asked Meri, tapping his fingers on the glass. He was still – after all this time – acutely conscious of the fact that he had never actually wielded very powerful magic until he came onto this world. Somehow, it didn't feel right to just start using the magic spontaneously. The sound his fingers made seemed to echo loudly and repeatedly inside the container until finally fading into whispering chimes, and then nothing. John quickly snatched his fingers away before he did anything noisier.

: _It's warded, it'd explode in your face,_ : Meri warned. Her voice seemed to take on a new urgency. : _Listen, I've only been given a short time to tell you this – game rules again. In a while Irenicus is going to come and take your soul away from you. Your player rolled a right for me to inform you of this before he does it – you have to make a decision before he comes back in._ :

: _Decision? _: John bit his lip, not bothering to waste time cursing at the obvious lack of choice _and_ at how juvenile this 'game' was. : _Right. I pull the stunt I did last time and split me soul again, I'd think. Hide the other half, and strengthen the other to make it seem whole… _:

: _I can do that. Which half this time? _:

In the glass jar, John smirked as he prepared his mind to manipulate this sort of magic. : _This time I'd keep the bastard. I'd send him my pansy side. _:

: _I've looked at the spell and I can do it more quickly – he's approaching the door now. _: Meri's presence turned businesslike and seemed to disappear for a moment, then John felt the familiar, unpleasant sundering feeling inside – it neared a very physical pain, and it took all his control not to double over and start whimpering. It felt strange to be on the other end this time… John wondered, rather viciously, whether it'd be more fun to be the proverbial complete bastard, this time literally. : _There. Your version was highly inefficient. _:

: _Yeah? So long as it does the damned job…_ : John decided not to bother trying to argue, and trailed off. Inside his mind, Meri chuckled.

To his right, he heard the noise of a door swinging open, the hinges groaning softly, then two sets of footsteps approaching. One was Irenicus, still as graceful and as arrogant as ever.

John sucked in a sharp intake of breath as he recognized the other – Yoshimo.

**

"Yoshimo?" 

"Ah, you recognize him," Irenicus said in his sardonic voice, continuing before John could insert a suitably sarcastic remark. "You have him to thank for the passage here into the Spellhold – without the drugs he has been feeding into your food since he has met you and your party, it would have taken some while for you to have found your own way into the Spellhold. There was not even a need for the vampires." The last word was pronounced with aristocratic distaste. 

That explained quite a bit – for one, the 'fainting' incident he had in Waukeen's Promenade. No doubt the thief had been 'experimenting' with the right amounts of sedative… 

John snorted. "If you're going to gloat some more my feet are going to sleep. I've met traitors before – if you're expecting some sort of violent denial from me – you can stick that idea up your pointy-eared arse." Yoshimo flinched at the word 'traitors', and refused to meet John's eyes, but kept silent. John couldn't be bothered to ask him why.

Irenicus' eyes flashed with anger. Ah, so he didn't only have one expression… "No longer an elf, thanks to the bitch of an elf queen. She and her city are paying for what they have done to me – for making all my years of life after Suldanesselar hollow. I intend to use you to reclaim what has been taken from me."

"If it's my soul you're talking about – you're forgetting one thing. I'm _human_."

"The essence of a soul is a powerful thing," Irenicus said, returning to his normal, sardonic expression, seemingly patient, as if lecturing a recalcitrant child. "Especially the soul of one versed in magic, one strong-willed and who courts both life and death as you do. You are the only one of all those I have tested who lives fully for himself and no other."

"Are you going to continue talking much longer?" John remembered Entreri still had the tracking device – that should count for something, should it not?

Irenicus smirked. "If you survive this, you will be put into the lowest level of the Spellhold labyrinth, where you will rejoin your comrades and K'yanae. And, if you were wondering about this – " Irenicus held out his right hand, palm up, chanting some spell. A circle of blue light traced into existence and out again, and then Irenicus was holding a small tank of water. Submerged in it was the small box – the tracking device. Wonderful how life just seems to hit you with everything it's got all at one go…

"Saemon Havarian took the precaution of sinking it in water quite a way before you lot reached Brynnlaw," Irenicus said, "So the Black Talons, though they may find this place eventually – by that time, I would be long gone, and you lot may have been destroyed by the labyrinth. Now, to start."

He caused the tank to disappear, then began to chant sonorously, waving his hands about. John was about to check with Meri whether everything was all right, but Yoshimo cleared his throat slightly.

"I am very sorry, John Constantine," Yoshimo said in a voice that seemed anguished. "You have been a good friend…"

"To my knowledge, unless they changed the rules, good friends don't poison their friends and give up said friends to the enemy," John said coldly.

"There is a geas on me – Irenicus' doing – if I did not obey his commands, I would die – slowly and in excruciating agony." 

"Yeah, that's what you all say."

"I am sorry I cannot convince you that I was under extreme duress," Yoshimo sighed. "But I am sorry."

"Heard you the first time." John deliberately turned his head away. Irenicus' chant was beginning to reach a crescendo, and John felt an insistent tug on something, for want of a better word, that could be his spirit, or soul. Theatrically, Irenicus raised his hands into the air with a shout of exultation, and the results were certainly impressive.

In all of the other tanks, the captives screamed and writhed, clawing at themselves, leaving bloody furrows with their nails, and then sank to the ground, choking. A sort of greenish haze or mist rose from their faces, twisting up to the top of the container where they abruptly vanished, as if sucked away. At the same time, Irenicus seemed to glow brighter and brighter until he resembled a new sun, tinted a pale olive green instead of vibrant gold, and John felt a dreadful wrench in his being as the halved soul tore free. Mercifully, he foundered into darkness.

**

He woke up to a well-known smell and a large, rough tongue sandpapering his face. Instinctively he pushed blindly at it, gasping curses, and his fingers sank into silky, thick fur that suddenly vibrated into a deep-throated purr. Muttering darkly about damned panthers, John rubbed his face on his sleeve and looked up blearily.

The cat purred more loudly, then shoved its nose in John's neck and pushed, rocking him to a side. "Yeah, I'm getting up in a moment," John growled at it. Satisfied, it purred again, and then rested its massive head on John's chest, resisting his efforts to dislodge it.

He was on a cold, stone tiled floor of an immense, dim-lit chamber with a high, flat ceiling, as large as a theatre. From what he could see, the chamber was in the shape of a square, and there were four wide staircases spaced neatly at intervals that led up into high exits on the walls. From the irregularity of the tiles beneath him, John guessed that it was, in all probability, patterned. 

There were voices somewhere, and he had the vague impression that he should be worried, but logically, if the cat was so relaxed, they were probably friendly – _friendly? There's only one you can trust, John Constantine – and that's yourself, sod it all! Relationships never work with you, and they'd never have. It'd all go to bullshit in the end. Better leave now… _

: _My… your 'bastard self' is even more interesting than I'd thought._ : Meri made appreciative noises somewhere inside his mind. 

: _Sod off._ : John closed his eyes, then made another effort to shove the weight off his chest. This time the cat moved obligingly, and he managed to stand up slowly.

The hollow ache had started. As he remembered it, it seemed to pool first in his stomach, as if he hadn't ever eaten since the birth of hours, and then slowly whisper upwards and make his heart seem to constrict and shrink away from the painful emptiness, the sensation of being _unfinished_, and finally take root in his mind. Where he was suddenly awash with vicious images. 

It would be so easy to kill the rest of them with his newfound magic, or turn his back on them and run, himself, through the labyrinth. With synchronicity he'd be sure to find a way out by himself, unhampered by the rest…

Or stay with them and wait till they got him out, then find Irenicus and make the damned sod pay in blood for taking his half, create a fate for him so terrible that even in Hell it would only be whispered in awed horror. He could do it. He could do anything. He was a Constantine…

: _Right, I hope you've just about finished that by now._ : Meri said brusquely, and John noticed with a start that his hands seemed to be on _fire_, blue fire. : _You do remember what you gave up, yes? Apparently you need your 'pansy' side more than you imagine._ : Her voice suddenly seemed to take on an undertone of annoyance, as if she'd just understood something. : _Wait. I think I can help you for a while… _:

Something seemed to be filling up the emptiness. Liquid fire seemed sweep up inside his body, and his ears were filled with a harsh roaring sound. John let out a choked exclamation and looked around wildly as he realized his vision of the outside seemed to have clouded over, as if he were looking at it through badly made glass. He stumbled backwards, holding his head, wherein a thousand pinpricks of pain seemed to have blossomed like malignant flowers. : _Meri! _:

: _I know! Something's wrong… oh right. Now that's obvious. _:

"Wrong? What the fuck is wrong?" John snarled, not caring that he was shouting now and not speaking in his head. "Stop it!" His knees hit something hard, then his shoulder and he dimly guessed that he had crumpled on the ground. There were voices calling to him somewhere above him, but he couldn't make out the words or even the sounds.

: _Okay, I understand it now. _: The pain withdrew quickly, but Meri's voice seemed to be louder, and her presence almost palpable. The emptiness was gone, at least.

: _What did you do? _:

: _You needed a bit more of something resembling a soul, or you might have turned homicidal or have done something just as foolish. So I stepped in a little – there's more of my essence tied with you for now… and you'd also have some of my personality. _:

: _So I might start talking non-stop? _:

: _No, it just means you'd hesitate and think before you start barging around... and though you won't be near your normal self until you get your half back by killing Irenicus, you'd be close to it._ : Meri seemed smug. : _You can also open your eyes now. Your friends are staring._ :

John did so, and looked up into K'yanae's face. The werewolf was shaking him by the shoulders. "Eh, you can stop now, luv."

She smiled and helped him up. "What happened?"

It took him a short time to explain to the rest what had happened to him, and he also took the time to check on their… condition. Peregrine looked as unperturbed as always, though the news of Yoshimo's betrayal seemed to shock the rest. Arundel looked rather confused, and the golem was missing. K'yanae was dressed in a soft brown cotton tunic and a blue dress that ended above her knee, as well as doeskin gloves and leather boots. She had explained that the clothes had been given to her the first day she had arrived in Spellhold as a snarling wolf, along with other sets of clothing that she said was probably the old clothes of other inmates. 

"What happened to you after you came here?" John asked curiously.

"Got shut in a cell," K'yanae shrugged. "The food was okay, they gave clothes and everything, but the screams tend to get on your nerves. Then one day Irenicus came and opened the door – where he promptly forced me into this room with a lot of glass jars in it that contained people. Same one you came from – and they tried to do the same thing – rip out my soul and put it into Bodhi. It worked, and the wolf had to come in full-time to fill up the void, like your… power, whatever it is, is doing for you. Got shut back into the cell, slowly feeling my mentality merge with the wolf's. If you hadn't killed Bodhi when you did, I might have found after a while that I couldn't turn back any longer – or worse, may have totally forgotten who I was."

Entreri padded up from behind her and put an arm around her waist – managing to seem both comforting and possessive at the same time, and K'yanae absently stroked his fingers, rubbing the hollows and tracing the veins. John shot a hard look at the assassin – he seemed more at ease than he had ever been in the period that he had been in the party, as if a great weight had been pulled off his shoulders. The dependence he seemed to have on the other werewolf was almost embarrassing to watch.

"Which would have been rather amusing," K'yanae smirked at Entreri. He murmured something into her ear. "Yeah well, we'd never be able to do that anymore then, would we?" The assassin chuckled, and K'yanae turned to regard him gravely with amber eyes. "When we get out of here, let's get back to solving your little problem. It's been delayed for far too long." The way she proposed to 'solve' it was clear to all as she ground her hips against his and kissed him fiercely. Entreri seemed surprised for a moment, and then returned the kiss with fervor, growling in his throat.

John exchanged helpless glances with Arundel. Peregrine shrugged, as if to say _they're supposed to be like that_.

: _Are they? _: John asked the voice in his head.

: _Oh yes._ : Meri seemed to smirk. : _K'yanae has taken him for her mate. I thought that was obvious to you – she Changed him, after all. First she's going to have an active hand in influencing his relationship with his wolf – then they're going to hammer out the details of their relationship as mates. All of it would involve some violence and sex. They've got a wolf part of them as well as a human part. _:

: _Right._ : John sighed inwardly. : _So long as they're not going to do it right now. I'm tolerant, but not _that_ tolerant._ :

: _Heh._ :

K'yanae finally disengaged, the smile on her face showing that she was rather pleased with herself, and when she spoke, it was as though nothing had happened. "Right. Entreri got his collar removed – so the tracer on that is gone – which means we have no money – not that it matters here."

"We still have our armor and weapons," Arundel pointed at himself. "But you… "

"Mmmm. I think Entreri has more knives somewhere." K'yanae arched one eyebrow at the assassin.

"Throwing knives," Entreri reminded her. "You can have the jeweled dagger – I can just use the… "

"Keep your dagger," K'yanae said with a grin, refusing the proffered weapon. "I don't particularly like its properties."

"Here," Peregrine took out the daggers in her boots. "You can have both if you want."

"Actually, I have one as well," Arundel gave her a larger dagger with a blade that had a bluish sheen, and John realized he couldn't tell where on earth the elf could have hidden that. Arundel smiled sheepishly. "Usually I use that one to cut saplings whenever I have to joust – it's a wasteful but rather practical use for the always-sharp dweomer it has on it. Though wouldn't you prefer swords or something?"

K'yanae smiled. "No. I'm fine with these." She took one of Peregrine's daggers and hefted it, then raised an eyebrow. "This isn't conventional metal."

"It was forged in Kara-Tur," Peregrine admitted. "They work metal differently there. There's no magic in the dagger though."

"Thank you all the same." K'yanae looked to John, and grinned. "Where to now?"

"How am I supposed to know?" John held out his hands. "Which reminds me. Arundel, where's that golem of yours?"

Arundel grimaced. "I have no idea. Somehow they managed to take me here without it activating to protect me… though I suppose since we locked it up in the hold and set it on silent it may not have even noticed that I was gone. It's probably still in Saemon's ship."

"Can you contact it from here?" John smirked. "Get it to break a hole in the ship."

"I don't know," Arundel admitted. "I've already sent an order like that one to it – but I'm not sure if it worked. I've never been separated this much from it before." The elf seemed upset now. "I do hope it's all right."

"What could hurt that thing?" Entreri asked drily. "Weapons bounce off it, magic slides off it."

"Unless you get a deactivation device from the plane where I scavenged the technology for it… true." Arundel cheered up. "Let's get out of here, then."

"Which way?" John waved a hand at the staircases. 

"Actually we haven't tried it out yet," K'yanae said, "Because before I was 'ported here by Irenicus he told me that they were going to pull the same soul-transfer thing on you… and if you survived, you would be placed where we all were at the moment. We decided to wait for you."

"If I survived," John pointed out dryly.

"I had no doubt you would." K'yanae grinned. "I survived it, after all. As to the staircases – why don't you pick one?"

John snorted. "Luv, why not you and the assassin go take a peek at all of them while the rest of us sit here?"

K'yanae and Entreri looked at each other, then Entreri shrugged. "That is feasible."

"Hmmm." K'yanae looked at Arundel's dagger with half-lidded eyes, then straightened. "Might as well." She stared at John. "Do you know you're glowing?"

John blinked, and looked down at his hands. He did seem to be giving off some soft blue light – rather like a giant firefly. : _Meri!_ :

: _What?_ : Meri asked crossly, as if he had interrupted her in something important. : _Oh, that. Get used to it, JC. _:

: _JC? And what is this? _:

: _'John' isn't a nice name and calling you Constantine is too formal. And the blue glow will come on whenever you're not concentrating. Think of it as a side effect. _:

: _There's nothing bloody wrong with 'John', thank you._ : John stared at his hands until the blue winked off. Inside his mind, Meri chuckled.

When he looked back up, K'yanae and Entreri had already prowled – John could think of no better word to describe the movement – up one staircase, and after pausing at the entrance, slipped in.

**

The dungeon, following the weird logic of this world that John still failed to understand, had several locked exits which had their keys _on the same level_. There was a 'logical' solution to every door that could be arrived on by simply picking up every single suspicious-looking device they could find in pots, tables, even behind books in bookshelves. Said devices included (this needed some riddle solving, which Arundel seemed to be naturally good at) a half-rotted hand from a zombie that they had to kill, a shard of pink crystal, several badly-done paintings of monsters and such. 

John was beginning to tire of living in a legend; especially the bits which involved voluntarily setting off devices that summoned monsters that immediately tried to kill you. In one case, had Meri not shielded the party against psionic attack in time, they would have had their brains sucked out by a disgusting creature known as a 'mind flayer' – it looked like a squid grafted onto a human. By the logic in this dungeon, you _had_ to set off all the devices which did this, as well as figure out devices which attempted to fry you if you got one single little step wrong, so that you could get the key out to the next stage.

It was a joke.

It was _way _beyond a joke.

What was even funnier was the fact that everyone else in the party was seriously into trying to get out, and they didn't seem to think that dungeons that had their own keys in reach were abnormal. John wondered vaguely if this was his bastard side speaking, but thought that if it was, then his bastard side would definitely be the side that usually spoke with the voice of reason.

Eventually, after a few close scrapes, including a ridiculous one involving a giant floating blob with a huge mouth, one central eye and lots of crab-like eye-stalks (a 'beholder', Meri had said, leading John to wonder whether that popular saying 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder' had some other meaning), they emerged onto what K'yanae said was the first floor. This dungeon, they had discovered, was to test inmates. Apparently if you could get out of it, you would be certified sane, harmless, and safe to put back into society, which was more stupid-logic, in John's opinion. He figured that if anyone could break out of the dungeon alone by following its stupid logic games and riddles, as well as conquering all the monsters, that person should be locked up. Or killed.

They also quickly realized that all the doors were locked, as well as those that had led to the inmates' cells. The main entrance hall, a large rectangular chamber fully carpeted in rich red and gold, had warded doors and walls against blasting spells, opening spells or lockpicking, Meri told them. As a precaution, both Arundel and Entreri verified this.

"Now what?" John growled. The cat echoed the sound, deeper and more menacing. "I bet the damned key was in the floor beneath this one."

"Well, the temptation of skipping one floor to go up to the apparent exit was just too tempting," K'yanae admitted. "We go back down, then."

**

When Entreri lockpicked the second floor door and nudged it open with his foot, he nearly hit a small, nervous-looking man in a brown monk-frock who started violently at the sight of them. Entreri also reacted immediately – in the blink of an eye, he had the tip of Vortex pressed against the man's throat. The man's eyes went wide, and then he gulped, and froze – the wisest thing to do under the circumstances. Entreri seemed to be alternating between pure savagery – the same that John had seen near Nalia's fortress – and cold control. It was as though he were regressing back to the absolute conflict between his wolf and himself – though whether this was part of werewolf custom or not, John wasn't sure and couldn't be bothered to find out.

"Good masters…" the man quavered. "I mean you no harm!"

"Who the hell are you?" Entreri growled, a wolf's growl. K'yanae winked at John, behind Entreri's back, then glided forward to put a restraining hand on the assassin's arm. 

"Now, we don't go around killing people," K'yanae said smoothly, with just a trace of irony. "So if you're helpful…"

"Oh, I can be very helpful," the man said, his eyes fixed on the blade, which didn't waver from his throat. "Please?" John could nearly see him make a palpable choice between trusting his fate to the blade, or to an apparent dark elf, and settling on 'dark elf'.

"Hmmm?" K'yanae seemed to be jerked back from some reverie at his words, then she smiled, and gently pushed Entreri's arm until the assassin withdrew the blade, holding it back at a 'ready' position that managed somehow to speak of his willingness to explode into violence. "Oh, very well. What can you tell us of this place, and how can we get out?"

"Irenicus took over Spellhold…"

"We _know_ that," Entreri growled.

The man glanced timidly to K'yanae for reassurance. She pushed back a lock of hair from her face. "Would you rather we asked you specific questions and you give us answers?"

From the look on the man's face, if K'yanae had asked him to throw himself off a tower, he would have quickly done so. 

"Very well. Firstly, where is Irenicus?"

The man spun on his heel and indicated the long corridor which swept to the left and right behind him with his hand. "Inside that room."

John realized he wasn't pointing at the corridor, but at the wall. "Behind the walls?" he asked.

"Yes." The man bobbed his head up and down nervously. "It is not locked."

"Good." Entreri said.

"Hold on," K'yanae interrupted. "Would you know where the keys to the other inmates are kept?"

"I can free them," the man said, biting his lip. "But that is madness!"

"Well… according to the logic of this damned place, we can't get out of here, can we? Through the main doors?" John asked sardonically.

"No… only Irenicus can undo his wards – he told me… said I'd be entombed here forever… " the man shuddered. "He is preparing to leave by fixing up the outgoing portal block on this place to his next destination – even now he is preparing for it in the chamber."

"How'd you know he's still there, mate?"

As an illustration, then man shut up. In the silence that followed, if John strained his ears – he could barely, just barely, make out an echoing chanting in a very familiar voice.

**

"I still don't see why we're doing this," Arundel said mildly. All of them were in some luxurious meeting room, where they faced the other inmates, eight of them, all of which looked highly unstable to John. Especially the elf mage who kept screaming about werewolves – it was lucky that he didn't seem to know what Entreri and K'yanae were. The man had disappeared… not that the rest of them cared.

"Well, we need more help if we wish to defeat Irenicus, who incarcerated us here," K'yanae was projecting her voice, in all appearance speaking only to Arundel, but in actuality making sure that all of the other eight inmates could hear them. Apparently these eight were the most powerful ones – the lesser ones seemed to have been cleared out, or were dead.

"Irenicus! Irenicus will pay!" one of the inmates – a thin-looking ascetic - roared. "I see them everywhere – _everywhere_! Inside, upside, all around!"

"Oh, Irenicus," a small girl spoke in a piping voice. On first impression, she seemed to be a girl – but after looking at her eyes and the set of her face, John decided she probably wasn't. "I wore his face once. What he did to me…" she shivered, her little body quaking.

"I need none of you to attack him!" a dwarf snarled. "Tiax needs no one! Tiax rules all!"

"The spirits don't go near him," one woman murmured. "They're around, and inside, and through everyone else! But not him."

"Quiet!" K'yanae shouted. There was silence for a while as the uproar came to a screeching halt. "Right. We have to do this together, okay? Or we'd never get out."

"You are drow!" the elf mage said suddenly, as if finally focusing on reality. "Drow cannot be trusted!"

K'yanae rolled her eyes. "I'm _half_-drow, mage. My father… "

"And… and amber eyes… werewolf and drow!" the mage shrieked, taking a step forward, his eyes blazing. Even the other inmates shrank back a little.

"Tiax…" the dwarf muttered uncertainly, his bravado somewhat diminished. 

"That's torn it," John heard Arundel mutter behind him.

"The important thing here is to get out," K'yanae's voice remained calm, even though Entreri was literally snarling with rage. "If you still wish to take out whatever grudge you have on werewolves – do it later after Irenicus, if we're still alive. If you're too frightened to face him and you wish to… "

"I am not afraid!" the mage snapped. "We will face this Irenicus – then, by Corellon Larethian, I swear that I will kill you!" He began to chant some sort of spell, and Entreri started forward.

: _Tell them it's a portal spell,_ : Meri said helpfully.

John repeated as much, and Entreri subsided unwillingly. The world seemed to be dashed away by millions of tiny points of white light… and then was washed back in blue.

John blinked. They were in the same chamber he had been in, with the glass bottles. This time, the corpses in the bottles had been removed, and Yoshimo, beside Irenicus, started violently when they appeared.

Peregrine immediately drew her bow and shot an arrow at Irenicus, who appeared to be absorbed in his spell casting, his back facing them. At the same time, with Meri's suggestion and help, John cast a breach-shield spell numbly, like a puppet.

There was a red flash, and Irenicus staggered, half-turning, a movement that saved his sorry life. The arrow embedded itself high on his arm. Unfazed, Peregrine drew and shot again, but Irenicus shouted a word and held up his hand – and the arrow bounced off a shield of whirling white threads of energy. "Fools that you are, but this I had not expected." Irenicus ignored the wound and glanced around contemptuously at the inmates. "You are mad indeed to have released these."

"Tiax rules all!" the dwarf cried, and as if this was a cue, all eight began casting spells wildly. Fireworks burst on – and slithered off – Irenicus' shields, and protective, strengthening spells blossomed around the eight and the party. Yoshimo withdrew to the side, clutching at his bow uncertainly.

"Fools. You are all fools." Irenicus spat, and then also began to cast his spells. He pointed, and a green cloud engulfed the little girl – she screamed, then crumbled into ashes. Fire roared down from above, piercing the elven mage's shield with frightening ease, and roasting the mage alive. The smell was gagging, and the werewolves wrinkled their noses with twin expressions of distaste.

John watched all this dispassionately, trying to concentrate instead on spells and Meri, who had given up trying to tell him what to do and had simply taken control. Irritated, he had attempted to stop this, but she told him quite sweetly that if she made a mistake, he could suffer the consequences.

As Irenicus systematically killed off the inmates, John's fingers nearly twisted themselves into a knot in casting, and a whip, nearly searing-hot in its incandescence, sang into existence above Irenicus. It cracked on its own, and the shield broke with a spark of red. A crossbow-bolt clattered away, bouncing off another shield and the whip cracked again, though this time without any visible effect, and it dissolved into the air.

Meri – acting as John – seemed to gather up some sort of energy within him until he fairly tingled with it – and then from his mouth issued several unintelligible words. His hands reached out, his left hand's palm over the back of his right hand, and a ruby-red beam hissed forth, engulfing Irenicus. There was another spark – of white this time, and an arrow hit Irenicus' stomach.

Irenicus staggered back, clutching at the wound, and a crossbow bolt slammed into his left shoulder, spinning him back. With a hoarse cry, he somehow managed to draw out a symbol in the air – and vanished. 

John let out a sharp exhalation of relief, and found that the mage battle had somehow blinded him to his surroundings. Looking around, he found that all eight inmates were dead, and not very prettily either.

There were five more bodies that seemed new – by the weapons on their hands, he guessed they had probably been more henchmen on Irenicus' payroll – and by the wounds on them, he deduced that K'yanae and Entreri were responsible for their current condition. On cue, the space between his shoulderblades felt extremely exposed. He had been unaware that the henchmen had appeared in the battle… 

The rest seemed to be clustered around another body – though all of them seemed to be fine. He strolled up to them and looked down – to see Yoshimo, dying with a mortal crossbow-bolt wound. 

The thief's eyes met John's, and he smiled weakly. "It is no use offering my apologies… again… but I have a last request… "

"What is it?" Arundel asked, before John could say something suitably sarcastic about there being reasons why people didn't help traitors.

"When I die… please, Lady Peregrine… lift the geas from me and let me go on to the afterlife… Irenicus has gone to… next stronghold…" Yoshimo's eyes closed, and he whispered something, then his breathing stilled. 

"What did he say?" Arundel asked the werewolves. With their preternatural sense of hearing, they might have caught his last words.

"The Underdark," K'yanae's face was set in an expression if inscrutable, terrible calm. "Irenicus has portalled to the Underdark."

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Skipping forward: It proves that no one probably reads this bit of the 'fics, because I have warned readers that I am not following the Baldur's Gate II plot very closely. What's the point of writing fanfic that rigidly follows a prior plot? That's so _boring_… not to mention that since it's a computer game, writing out every single quest and development would take forever. If I had detailed on them wandering around Brynnlaw and figuring out how to get in, that could have taken at least one chapter by itself. In which case, if I count every major plot development as two chapters each (if I squeeze), the story would have twenty-five chapters or so in total, since I've already killed off Bodhi (if not, it'd probably be a tally of thirty chapters). I refuse to write twenty-five chapters for stories anymore. 

__

Shortcuts: Yes, I also refuse to detail every single bit of the large (and irritating) Spellhold dungeon. If you want, go read a walkthrough, or better still – play the gorgeous game and riddle your way out of it. I figure this story is providing too many spoilers as it is…


	19. Interlude

Interlude

The tension in the playing room had risen. GrayWolf and Belnarath were technically both out of the game, their major playing tokens having been consumed, though they still moved minor characters. Hat'yet, in a surprising move after he'd lost one of his two main tokens, promoted a minor token into a major one with a successful dice roll.

"Hey!" GrayWolf interceded. "That was supposed to be for our side!" Minor tokens could be cross-sided, adding to the fun and complexity of the game, but major tokens stayed with one. Hat'yet turned his head with reptilian grace to look to Shoshuna for judgement.

Shoshuna smiled serenely. "Yes, GrayWolf… but as the token has turned into a major one, Hat'yet is free to choose one side for it – and he has chosen."

Hat'yet smirked, and made a gesture at a figurine of a human dressed in well-made, sky-blue leather armor and a cloak of forest-green. The eyes of the figurine were a strange shade of blue, nearly violet. Right now the figurine glowed briefly in an intense red light, then was shifted onto a new point on the board.

"It's your time to roll, Hat'yet… against N'avsh for the dominant save," Shoshuna said, and Hat'yet caught the dice as they materialized in front of him. With a fluid curl of his wrist, he sent the cubes dancing onto the board. 

The others glanced at the score. 

GrayWolf winked at N'avsh. "That wasn't a bad roll."

"Have faith, GrayWolf," N'avsh retorted, the dice in her hand, and with a flick, the white cubes rolled over the board and clattered to a halt. N'avsh shot GrayWolf a triumphant look.

"Good roll, sister," Hat'yet said grudgingly, as N'avsh moved a token of a carved disc of emerald underneath her playing token of a female human from whose shoulders sprouted the wings of a falcon. N'avsh smiled at him.

"Don't worry – I won't get your token killed," N'avsh said reassuringly. "I hope."

Morikan chuckled at her.

"Have a care, Morikan," N'avsh told him, "I was tempted to call a dominant save against your main token, but decided it wouldn't fit."

Morikan raised an eyebrow. "You would have failed it with my modifiers." He gestured smugly at his main token. Above the figurine of the smoking human in a trenchcoat hovered a bird-shaped flame.

"Thou art playing a strange gambit," Belnarath admonished him. "So many player-clairvoyant throws is not very sporting, is it? And the token… "

"The player – this token, at least, would find out eventually," Morikan winked. "The throws gain me some time."

"Dodging time," GrayWolf corrected.

"Whatever you would call it," Morikan said dryly. "I have all my major playing tokens intact, while you?"

"Ah… that was a low blow," GrayWolf conceded.

"Quite," Morikan agreed smugly.

"We continue with the game," Shoshuna interrupted. "The next throw is GrayWolf's."


	20. This thing against Riddles

Chapter 16

This thing against riddles

"Not again!" John groaned. "I hate that place!" His last experience with it had involved certain things he still experienced in nightmares. 

"Why in the world did Irenicus leave for that place, of all places?" K'yanae sighed. "Father would throw a fit if I went there." Her eyes brightened at this. "Well."

"You're forgetting something," Arundel said mildly, "Not all of us have infravision. And those of us who _have_ infravision are probably not used to the way one would have to use it in the Underdark."

"Yeah. I definitely don't want to go into there," John said firmly.

"Your soul?" K'yanae shot him a concerned glance. "Hey. You're glowing again."

John closed his eyes and tried to will himself to stop. When he looked – the glow had stopped, but he had a feeling that once he forgot about it, it would start again. Great. : _Meri, how long can you replace my half?_ :

: _Till the end of your life, if need be,_ : Meri told him mildly. : _Though you might end up getting some of my personality traits permanently._ :

"I'm not in a hurry to get it back," John said, though he winced at the thought of turning into half-Meri. "We can try to wait him out."

"If he comes out," Entreri pointed out. 

"There are many exits to the Underdark, and the Underdark itself is a huge place. We'd never be able to trace him." K'yanae said, then sniffed the air. "Someone's coming."

Entreri glanced at her, then at the door, and growled. "Saemon Havarian. Come out."

Saemon Havarian, dressed now in a strange suit of sky-blue leather armor that seemed strengthened at parts with mithril, complete with leather leg guards and high boots, stepped out into view at the doorway, and bowed gracefully, his forest-green cloak sweeping before him like large wings. He was armed now, with a two swords which had a rapier's hand-shielding hilt but which had blades that resembled that of a katana's, except shorter. At his hips he had a small crossbow, and also a case of bolts, both traced in veins of some silvery metal.

"Perhaps I could be of some help." Saemon walked into the room, idly looking around at the carnage. "Irenicus has left for the Underdark, you say – and I know where he would have gone." He looked at Arundel and Peregrine, both of whom were aiming their ranged weapons at him. "Oh please. I am in no position to attack your party." The glance he shot Peregrine was dispassionate.

"You've betrayed us once," John pointed out. "Now, why shouldn't we cut you into ribbons now?"

"Because I know where Irenicus is – and I know what he wishes to do next?" Saemon smiled rakishly. 

"Then you'd better tell us," K'yanae said calmly. 

"Ah, Lady K'yanae – it is a pleasure to see that you have recovered," Saemon bowed in her direction. "Very well… Saemon has gone to the drow outpost of Ust Natha… which is near the entrance to the elf-controlled area near Suldanesselar."

"Drow outpost!" Arundel exclaimed. "We cannot follow him there, surely."

"Suldanesselar is in chaos and its inhabitants are either ousted, dead, or in tiny, fighting pockets in the city that would soon be extinguished by Irenicus and his allies," Saemon said, ignoring Arundel. "Queen Ellesime has been presumed dead. Irenicus intends to go there after his business in Ust Natha – involving some Matron there – and in Suldanesselar, he would apparently get some part of some great power inside it – and you might not be able to stop him."

"So your counsel is… ?"

"I'd take you back to the mainland, and you go to Suldanesselar and wait for Irenicus there. There's no use waiting outside the exit to the Underdark there – no doubt Irenicus has portals set into the city itself. And unless you wish to brave the Underdark and get to Ust Natha…"

"What's in this for you?" John asked suspiciously.

"I'd like a pledge from Lady K'yanae that the Black Talons – as well as the Thief Guild she is a prominent member of – would not come hunting for my skin," Saemon said blandly.

"And we can actually trust you again?" Arundel pointed out sarcastically.

Saemon shrugged. "Do you have a choice? It's either follow me out of here – believe me, I'd be a better bet than if you tried hitching a ride on any of the pirate ships, even if you could persuade their captains to take you on – or plow your way through the Underdark."

"We have a choice," Peregrine said quietly. She was bent over Yoshimo's body, and her hand glowed emerald. 

"Oh?" Saemon gave her a look of studied curiosity. "And what would that be?"

Peregrine smiled. "This is the essence of a geas." She held up her hand. "I propose to place it on you and geas you to us… such that we would be sure you would not betray this party."

Saemon paled, and looked to K'yanae. 

"Go on," K'yanae said mockingly. "It's only a reassurance of trust. If you're so reluctant to have it put on you, that'd mean you're up to something, aren't you?" 

Saemon bit his lip. "I have… something I ought to tell you then. Irenicus gave me a silver blade which has been bringing me a bit of trouble lately."

"What sort of trouble?" John asked wearily.

"It turned out that the blade, though powerful, is some religious object of a group of githyanki," Saemon said unhappily, "And they are desirous of getting it back."

"Give it back to them, then," Arundel voiced the logical solution.

"On most times they seemed more interested in killing me first," Saemon said dryly. 

"In other words, you're very happy to take us along so that we can save your arse from monsters," John said bluntly. 

"We still need a way out of here that doesn't involve the Underdark," Peregrine said mildly. "The geas would prevent him from any other betrayals… or do you have others you wish to voice now?"

"None," Saemon swallowed. "Look, we don't need to put that on me…"

"As I said, it's only a reassurance." K'yanae said coldly. 

"You should probably understand my reluctance to give you something that could allow you to kill me easily," Saemon said with a note of pleading. 

"We could kill you now," John let his hands start glowing theatrically. Entreri growled an assent.

Saemon glanced quickly at them, and then his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Do it, then."

**

They got out of the city with some difficulty, considering that it turned out another reason why Saemon needed them along was because his ship was under guard, and they had to kill said guards. Since at nightfall there was also some strange barrier that disallowed ships from getting out of Brynnlaw or coming in, K'yanae and Entreri also had to be sent to steal a Horn of Passing which was in the Pirate Lord's mistress' room. Said mistress, being engaged in activity (to put it mildly) with another male who was obviously not the Pirate Lord, was too caught up to notice.

However, when they were boarding the ship, said mistress appeared leading the Pirate Lord and ten more pirates behind them, where Saemon was accused of theft. There was a small, highly amusing (to John's current personality) scene where the Pirate Lord killed his adulterous mistress, and a further scuffle where the party managed to massacre the pirates, after which they were able to leave. Finally.

The trip was distinctly lacking in incident. Arundel was greatly relieved to see that his golem was safe and sound in the hold, and now spent a lot of his time there fussing over it. Peregrine was normally with Saemon – since she had placed the geas, Saemon had been geased to her, and though it didn't seem to be working, he was still striving to persuade her to take it off him. John had a feeling Peregrine rather enjoyed the method of persuasion, but she wasn't giving in.

K'yanae and Entreri had taken a room to themselves, and spent a lot of time inside it or on the deck conversing. So it was such that John was left with hardly anyone to talk to except for Meri, to his annoyance, and so was half-relieved when one day everyone was called up to deck by the frenzied shouts of the crew. Apparently a githyanki ship was gaining on them.

That wasn't particularly exciting either – after John and Meri engaged in a short mage-battle with the approaching ship and threatened to burn it down, the githyanki elected to send a representative onto their ship, where they retrieved the silver blade and both sides agreed not to bother each other any longer. 

Eventually they docked back at Athkatla, where the only amusing thing that happened was that Arundel had to pretend to be the captain of the ship, and both K'yanae and Saemon had to hide, the city being notoriously drow-unfriendly. They were only able to restock afterwards – K'yanae got Yoshimo's leather armor repaired for her to wear. She told them she felt strange wearing a dead man's things, but there was not much choice, and Yoshimo's armor, the same suit taken from the dragon's lair, was of good quality.

And though Saemon vigorously protested, he had to follow them to Suldanesselar as a member of the group. Rumors were that an elven camp of Suldanesselar exiles had gathered near the Underdark exit, and that they had been strengthened by some outside military force. Though as per normal, the attitude in Athkatla seemed to be that elven business was elven business, and to hell with them.

As the group set out from the city gates, the guards only gave them a passing glance, to Saemon's relief, which he voiced later, along with reiterated arguments as to why it was a bad idea to force him to follow them, but a stare from Entreri put a damper on his protests.

Synchronicity, at least, was behaving, and after they got out of sight from the gates, it dumped them at the outskirts of a large, orderly military camp that flew, at the gates, two large, proud flags that featured the symbol of a black talon on a field of crimson.

**

"Father!" K'yanae flew into Zaknafein's arms. The old elf smiled and murmured something into his daughter's ear, and Neira somehow managed to hug them both. The party was gathered outside the central tent in the Black Talon encampment, and John was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable for looking in on something that was obviously private.

Eventually, K'yanae let go and grinned at Zaknafein. "What took you so long?"

Zaknafein snorted, and raised an eyebrow at Entreri. "Weren't you warned not to break the tracer? And the both of you _had_ to lose your collars, so we had no damned idea where in the Nine Hells you were. Since some of the elven Talons have ties to Suldanesselar, which would probably have been the least hostile to us in this region, we sneaked down here to try to get some information, and found that they'd been displaced from their city." 

He waved an elegant hand at a group of gold elves, dressed in elaborate, green elf armor. "That one with the helmet is their current leader – Duke Eldron. There was a bit of a confusion in which both of us nearly ended up fighting each other, but we've sorted it out."

"So what are you doing here?" K'yanae asked curiously.

"We figured that you'd eventually follow Irenicus here," Zaknafein said mildly, "He is in the city right now, as we speak. Didn't want to commit to an attack until I got some news from you." He smiled a little maliciously. "Not to mention it doesn't matter a lot to me if Suldanesselar were to fall."

Duke Eldron sighed. "I have told you, your Grace, that you will be paid when the coffers of Suldanesselar are open to us again."

Zaknafein had winced slightly at the 'your Grace', but he shrugged. "K'yanae, do you want to continue chasing this Irenicus?"

"John Constantine helped me get back what Bodhi took from me," K'yanae winked at John. "So I suppose I'm bound to help him get back what Irenicus took from him." Her fingers were twitching a little, and John realized that Zaknafein was idly observing them, as if understanding a code, but not making it obvious.

"Ah, I see," Zaknafein straightened, and glanced at John with piercing eyes. "You intend to enter the city to seek him out?"

John nodded. "Though there are some things about him I'd like to know."

"No doubt these gentlemen would be very helpful," Zaknafein inclined his head at Duke Eldron impatiently. 

"We still need the Rhynn Lanthorn, that was lost to us due to the accursed Irenicus, to open the gates, your Grace," Duke Eldron told Zaknafein. "Without it, no matter how much I tell these… people, there is not much we can do."

"Didn't I say?" Zaknafein feigned astonishment. "I have the Rhynn Lanthorn."

"What?"

"Or rather, I know someone who has it." Zaknafein stepped back a little, and twitched the tent flap aside. A rather singular-looking personage emerged, shielding his eyes from the light. "This is Jarlaxle."

Jarlaxle was a dark elf, shorter than Zaknafein, but with a considerably louder presence. He wore a wide-brimmed, velvet hat on his head, a royal purple in hue with a band of fabric in burnished gold, from which several large grayish feathers were held, that dangled down to brush at his back. His angular face had one eye covered by an elaborate, ruby-red eye patch, while the other one twinkled merrily, the sensual mouth turning up at the corners into a self-satisfied smirk at the elves' astonishment. He wore dark leather armor that bared well-muscled arms caught at times with high bracelets, where eight bangles of differing materials gathered at his wrist, over the soft gloves, and from his neck also hung a large collection of medallions, necklaces and whatnot, all of which looked as though they had hidden properties. A beautifully wrought rapier hung at his hip, along with a few wands, and he wore breeches of soft leather that ended in high black boots. 

The most stunning thing about this strange elf was his cloak of shimmering colors, iridescent and painful to look at for too long, and a certain look that he had that warned all that this elf was not to be trifled with. Perhaps it was the wicked grin, or the calculating look that got into his eyes when he looked everyone over efficiently to see which would be a threat, or the casually familiar way he rested one gloved hand on the hilt of his rapier. "Even with a spell, the light is still strange to look at, " Jarlaxle told Zaknafein lightly. He spoke in the Common tongue, without a single trace of an accent.

Zaknafein shrugged. "That's your problem."

"Jarlaxle… aren't you Silaran's father?" K'yanae frowned. "I think I heard something about that."

"The same," Jarlaxle agreed amiably. He held a strange, twisted thing in one hand, which looked nearly like a battle-horn. John surmised that it was the Rhynn Lanthorn, whatever the hell that was, by the way Duke Eldron and the elves stared at it. "You must be the lovely K'yanae Do'Urden." He stepped forward, catlike, and kissed K'yanae's hand with archaic formality. From behind K'yanae, Entreri growled.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" K'yanae grinned.

"What a way to speak!" Jarlaxle eyed Zaknafein. "You resemble your father already." 

Zaknafein snorted. "Jarlaxle is a weasel, K'yanae. You know what pests are like – they keep coming back no matter how hard you step on them."

"You wound me, old friend," Jarlaxle said archly. 

"How did you get the Rhynn Lanthorn?" Duke Eldron demanded.

"Actually, I have been in communication with Jarlaxle and what was left of his Bregan D'aerthe – I told you it was a mistake to get too close to House Baenre – ever since the Talons have camped here," Zaknafein told Jarlaxle, who shrugged. "In exchange for my aid in sorting out some things in the city, Jarlaxle agreed to give me something that he said that you lot would be very interested in." Zaknafein gestured at the Rhynn Lanthorn. "Since he is a thief as well as being a liar and a scoundrel, I doubt you need to ask him how it got into his possession."

"What things in the city?" Eldron asked, confused. "Suldanesselar?"

"No, Ust Natha," Zaknafein replied. "There were a few problems involving a lich and Bregan D'aerthe soldiers. We also managed to have a bit of fun with a balor that one of the stupid Matrons was trying to summon." He and Jarlaxle exchanged amused looks. "Turned out they were trying to sacrifice some silver dragon eggs… "

"Silver dragon!" Eldron gasped. "You mean the Lady Anariel's eggs? The drow have them?"

"Irenicus somehow managed to steal them," Zaknafein explained, "And so the silver dragon – Anariel – was not able to exert her normal influence on Ust Natha. Hence the attacks on Suldanesselar. We got her eggs back to her – though it was a close thing – and the balor took out its anger on the Temple of Lloth, since we made it such that it could only roam that part of the Prime Material Plane for an hour before it had to return. That was Jarlaxle's idea," he added after a pause.

"Turns out an hour was enough time," Jarlaxle agreed, smirking. "Ust Natha is in disarray now. Anariel has her eggs and has had her revenge – for all that she is a silver dragon, she doesn't seem averse to going on killing sprees."

"Dark elves – those dark elves, are evil." Duke Eldron said with a hint of self-righteousness. "The Lady Anariel was entirely justified in what she would have done."

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes at Zaknafein, who grinned. 

"What I was saying," Jarlaxle continued, handing the Rhynn Lanthorn to Eldron, "Was that if you try mounting an assault on the city now, I doubt you'd need to fear recrimination from the back. Anariel has been very helpful by closing up the city and trapping the other dark elves in it." He glanced at Arundel, frowning slightly. "You look familiar."

Arundel held out his hands. "Have I met you before, then?"

Zaknafein's fingers twitched at Jarlaxle, who grimaced at him, as if he were forced to carry on with his suspicions. "I believe I've seen you while you wore another color… and were claiming to be some sort of Vhaeraun priest."

John slowly turned and stared at Arundel, as did the rest. The elf stood his ground. "I am called the Godless One."

Jarlaxle was quick to pounce on that. "_Are_ you. My memory is quite accurate… if I recall, your name then was 'Dal'sharran'… and you were wandering around cities trying to spread Vhaeraun's teachings, though you disappeared a few centuries ago."

"Jarlaxle… " Zaknafein sounded irritated. "Are you sure about this?"

"We can verify it," Eldron volunteered, with a hard glance at Arundel. "Our sages."

Arundel sighed in defeat. "Very well… yes, I _am _Dal'sharran. I came to the Surface quite a while ago in an attempt to spread Vhaeraun's popularity here, though I found quickly that there is a violent prejudice against dark elves here. So I settled for changing my skin color in a way that would allow me an excuse not to explain my background, and which would allow pure-blood elves an excuse not to stay in my company." 

John was going to get a headache from all the self-revelations. Meri explained to him that this obviously explained Arundel's little insecurities, and several other incidents, but John tuned her out.

"I found friendship on the Surface." Arundel glanced at the party, a little hesitantly. "The Order of the Radiant Heart, for one. Though I kept to my original purpose by building schools to educate the peasantry. Education makes the mind more flexible… most of the time." This last was addressed to Eldron. "I was even invited to Suldanesselar itself once – due to the weight of my name in this part of the world – though I suspected Ellesime saw through my disguise, she said nothing of it."

"You are drow…" Eldron started lamely, no doubt about to launch into some sort of tirade.

"So am I," Zaknafein cut in, with a glance at Arundel. "What was your purpose in joining this party?"

"They helped me against a dragon, now I help them," Arundel shrugged. "And it had been profitable, and enjoyable." He smiled regretfully. "If I am to leave now – I do not mind – though I'd rather see this to the end."

"Are you sure you worship Vhaeraun?" Zaknafein seemed amused. 

Arundel chuckled. "Yes. He is more tolerant than you'd know, actually… and I have a feeling he approved of my methods."

"I don't mind him in the party," K'yanae said, looking to John. "Since I'm part drow myself."

"If K'yanae doesn't mind… then I don't particularly care," Entreri spoke up.

Peregrine shot Saemon an look of amusement. "Considering who else we have in this group… I do not mind." Saemon chuckled, though he still looked a little put out with the whole issue of the geas.

John looked down at the panther, then sighed. "I have no idea why all of you are looking at me, but so far… Arundel's a decent sort. Though it seems I can't tell between 'sorts' very well any longer," he added, thinking about Yoshimo. 

"Then it's settled," K'yanae said decisively. "When are we reclaiming Suldanesselar?"

"After you rest," Neira smiled. "And you tell us in full what happened."

**

It took a day to explain everything to Zaknafein's satisfaction and for them to rest, eat and clean up, and Eldron, true to his word, answered John's questions about Irenicus – Joneleth Irenicus. Then the next morning John watched the Black Talon encampment efficiently begin to mobilize, and was swept along, still yawning from his nap, towards Suldanesselar. The panther at his side had found some fish (he didn't know how) that had been cooked in the encampment, and was purring its satisfaction. John and the party were around the head of the one-hundred-strong Black Talon soldiers whom were marching in perfect order over the turf, after having left a few score to guard. Next to them, Zaknafein and Neira rode two large, evil-looking horses that John suspected weren't actually horses at all, the way their eyes glowed, and he'd seen what their teeth were like when Zaknafein's steed attempted to play-bite the elf.

Diplomatically, Arundel did not ride his golem, but walked with them, talking to John and Jarlaxle, who didn't seem to have brought any dark elves and probably didn't want to expose his mercenary band to any more losses. It didn't take long for both John and Arundel to like the mercenary… not that they would trust him if it came to that, but that was something else altogether.

Eventually they joined up with another neat assembly of soldiers, elven soldiers resplendent in the sunlight, about a hundred or so. Zaknafein nodded to Duke Eldron as the Duke rode over on a horse of pure white. The dark elf seemed deadly calm before the battle that was to come. 

"There is a guard outside the gates now," Eldron said conversationally. "They grouped last night. About twenty dark elves and some minor demons, ten or so. I doubt it'd prove much of a disturbance."

"Dark elves in the sunlight?" Arundel asked curiously.

"More spells," Zaknafein waved his hand irritably. "Like that specimen you have next to you."

"Specimen?" Jarlaxle protested, winking at Zaknafein. John realized that the mercenary had shifted his eye patch's position to cover the other eye, and that the exposed eye was perfectly sound. 

Zaknafein made a show of ignoring him as he turned to speak to K'yanae. 

**

They were ambushed when they had walked in a large forest with giant trees that were four metres or more in diameter. Several dark elves burst out of their cover high in the trees and proceeded to start shooting. With an oath, Zaknafein whirled his horse around, his swords flashing, and a few beheaded arrows clattered on the ground. The dark elves were mainly concentrating on the surface elves, and John saw some of them fall, clutching at their wounds.

The Talons responded with a sweep of arrows of their own, and the dark elves dropped, a few of them with more than one arrow sticking out of them. 

There was a chorus of terrible roars, and from under a large, fallen tree burst several demons of varying sizes, the largest of which was about eight metres or so in height. It roared, brandishing an immense axe in each hand.

: _Meri… can you cast that protection from evil thing? _:

Meri chuckled in his mind, and his fingers moved. Blue clouds enveloped people around him – the party, Jarlaxle, Duke Eldron, Zaknafein and Neira and they began to glow in soft, myriad colors. Zaknafein nodded thanks at him, then promptly charged at the large demon. The Black Talon and elven mages were doing the same, though at parts some demons had already engaged soldiers in combat. 

It was a rather one-sided fight, once the demons ascertained that they couldn't hurt the glowing soldiers – whom grew in number, and it turned into a messy slaughter that John carefully stayed out of. His philosophy was that if other people wanted to fight demons, that was perfectly fine with him, especially if they didn't notice that he was staying out of the way.

He could see the large demon snarling, its roars shaking the ground, but then it shrieked as something flew into its eye, and it clapped a large claw onto it, staggering backwards, then suddenly falling down with a crash, splintering the large fallen trunk behind him like a matchstick. There was a blur of black as Zaknafein's horse leapt gracefully onto a larger portion of the trunk, the stallion screaming a challenge, then it jumped onto the monster's body, metal-shod hooves stamping. 

At that point of time, John stopped paying attention to Zaknafein, because a winged, man-sized demon swooped down from the air at him, four arms holding scimitars. Meri, who had been paying attention, got up a shield against weapons in time for the demon to hit it and bounce off, like some misshapen tennis ball, and plow into the ground, where it was jumped by the panther. John was curious to see how the fastidious panther would kill the demon, which was dripping slime, but Meri was using him to cast some spell. 

A circle of white light traced itself out on the ground, then John realized that the air above it seemed to warp a little, as though there was something that was invisible but not quite occupying it. A breeze sprung into existence, teasing up fallen leaves, and then the man-sized demon jerked back violently, as if something had hit it with great force. This continued for a while until the demon's neck broke, then the – whatever it was – went to find more demons to kill.

: _What was that? _:

: _Invisible stalker, _: Meri replied smugly. : _You can summon it._ :

: _I realized, _: John replied dryly. The panther padded back to him, purring. The stalker attacked a few more demons before finally disappearing in a flash of orange light.

The fight was over quickly, and the soldiers wandered back to regroup and count losses. Zaknafein seemed exhilarated, he and his horse liberally splattered with dark blood that looked black in the sunlight. 

Jarlaxle grinned impishly at Zaknafein. "I should travel with you more often. Never had this much fun for a while."

"You're still alive?" Zaknafein exclaimed with mock regret. "Will I never be rid of you?"

"I'm a weasel, remember?" Jarlaxle winked.

Zaknafein snorted. "One day I'd have to find out how you got to live this long. I'd thought that most of those I'd known in Menzoberranzan would be dead by now."

"Simple, old friend," Jarlaxle flicked the blood away from his rapier and the short sword he held in his other hand. "Just don't die."

**

The massive doors set inside a particularly large tree were wide open – to show a wide landing on which all the soldiers and more could fit. Zaknafein raised an eyebrow at Duke Eldron.

"The Rhynn Lanthorn has ensured that we can enter," the Duke said. "It can break Irenicus' blocks on this entrance."

"What I want to know is… is this a portal?" Zaknafein asked in distaste.

"Yes… but a short one. It leads up there." The Duke pointed upwards, ahead of them to a very thick section of the forest. "Suldanesselar is a city on top of the trees… it guards the entrance to the trees of life."

"Whatever," Zaknafein said, disinterested, as he urged the horse forward. "Come on, Diablo." 

When everyone was gathered on the surprisingly empty landing, John wandered to the edge and looked down, over the delicate railing forged of some alloy of silver – and immediately regretted it. They seemed to be hundreds of feet above the forest floor… 

Quickly he jerked his gaze upwards, and looked at the elven city of Suldanesselar. It seemed to consist of many such large landings, most of which had buildings of indescribable grace and beauty on them, built of white stone or some equivalent material, and tastefully decorated with carvings and patterns. The city, with its ethereal structures, didn't seem to be able to withstand a siege for very long.

To his far right, many landings away, was the largest landing, balanced on several huge trees, and that had a large, closed gate and walls around it. Behind it was a stunning building whose magnificence managed to put all the others to shame. John guessed – rightly – that it was the palace. If the logic of this world held, Irenicus would be somewhere inside it, and the gate wouldn't open until one solved a series of stupid puzzles.

"How do you open the gate to that?" John asked Duke Eldron.

The Duke blinked at him. "That is the palace. Why would you want to enter?" His tone of voice implied that the palace was not a place for non-elves to impose their unworthy presences in.

"Because," John drawled slowly, "I'd bet you your horse that Irenicus is inside. And knowing this damned world, you'd need to trigger a lot of stupid puzzles to open it, yes?"

The Duke looked offended, though Zaknafein and Jarlaxle sniggered. "Puzzles? Those are safeguards of the highest importance, with trusted guardians of their own…"

"And," John continued relentlessly, watching the chaos of the city, with its occasional bursts of mage fire and meteor storms on some landings, "I'd also bet you all of the guardians are dead and we have to figure out the damned puzzles by ourselves, yes?"

"Forgive my friend," Arundel interceded with a smile before Eldron really got offended. "He has this thing against riddles."

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Saemon: Well, I liked him… I rather wished he could join my BG II party without any bugs happening, but I couldn't be bothered to fix it so he could. Ah well. I also rather pitied the Githyanki – not to mention that well, it's _their_ holy object. The first time in the game they appeared when I had the blade, I gave it back to them… admittedly, for the next few times I killed them anyway. They're good experience. Heh.

__

Skipping the Underdark: Yes, at first I intended to include the Underdark jaunt in the story, but it's rather long and not very interesting. Ust Natha has a few question marks. It's supposed to be a city, albeit a small one, but I managed to slaughter all its inhabitants quite easily with my six party members. 

There are only three apparent Houses. Jarlaxle was somehow tricked by one of them, and got Bregan D'aerthe into some serious trouble such that he tricks you into getting him out of it. You can kill Jarlaxle… and the only 'Bregan D'aerthe' that comes to his aid is one lousy mage. And one more thing – if you turn up the contrast a little (actually, even if you don't fiddle with the contrast) you don't need infravision to see your way around. It's about as clear as any underground BG II passage. 

__

Names: Sorry, I can't remember the exact ones. Heheh.


	21. Tax Evasion

Chapter 17

Tax evasion

The city was in turmoil. Mostly, dark elves and demons teamed up against the few pockets of resistance and the new army, though at parts there were huge man-shaped golems of stone or metal, some more than seven metres tall, which smashed at people with their large fists and bellowed hollowly. Wisely, the party left the other soldiers to take care of those things, and concentrated on trying to figure out the stupid puzzles.

John had been mostly right in that the guardians were generally dead, save one rather impressive elven priestess who told them what they had to do. Though that fit with the game logic as well – said priestess, who was apparently of some high rank, was simply the first clue they had to have to pick up all the remaining things.

Now they had two of the three items that they needed to trigger a sequence in a last, domed tower at the far right of the palace. The problem was, the last item, some sort of stone harp (who the hell would make a harp of stone?) was in the possession of a black dragon. The entrance to the clearing where the dragon was – conveniently at the far left of the city, such that they'd have to bypass most of the major landings were battle was being waged.

It was also apparently a black dragon, and Arundel was engaged in explaining to them what black dragons could do. So far, John realized, they could do a _lot_, and they didn't have siege engines this time.

When in doubt, find someone who's in charge of a lot of soldiers. The party went looking for Zaknafein.

They found him on foot and dancing around a large adamantite golem which ineffectually attempted to hit the much-faster dark elf. Occasionally, Zaknafein would use one of his long swords, which glowed with a red edge and which sheared through the metal like a knife through melting butter. Eventually, the elf hacked away a foot, such that the golem fell with a crash, and Zaknafein slipped forward and cut off the head. The light in the golem's eyes died.

"Where's Diablo?" K'yanae asked curiously. 

Zaknafein pointed at a messy skirmish on the next platform. A black horse reared, screaming, then plunged down and kicked out with powerful hooves. A dark elf, skull shattered, was thrown by the impact over the railing to plunge down to the forest floor below. "What are you here for?"

They explained the situation to him. Zaknafein snorted. "A black dragon, you say? I killed one before. If your mage there has a resist fear spell… Though perhaps we could speak to this one."

"The Talons…" K'yanae began.

"It'd take too long to call them to disengage, and they're needed elsewhere," Zaknafein gestured at the landings. "I suppose I'd come with you." He winked at his daughter. "After all… I represent Asur."

John remembered that he was supposed to ask Zaknafein about something, and though he tried to recall this as they cleared a way to the last landing where there was an entrance to the dragon's clearing, he could not remember it.

"Where's Jarlaxle?" Arundel asked curiously, as he shot an approaching dark elf in the throat. 

"Jarlaxle?" Zaknafein ducked a sword swing gracefully, blocked another, and kicked his opponent in the stomach. As the dark elf staggered, Zaknafein thrust with the red-edged sword between the elf's eyes, and it slid in with terrifying ease. With a twist, Zaknafein freed his sword to block another attack from an elf, this time a swipe from a lance. "The rogue's around somewhere. If he knows what's good for him, he'd better be helping… but I think that's too much to expect from him."

Throwing daggers whirled out from behind them and embedded themselves in the necks of some of the dark elves, then disappeared. 

"Speak of the devil, and there he comes," Zaknafein said pleasantly, turning to regard Jarlaxle, who trotted up to their landing. The mercenary chuckled, continuing to throw daggers with deadly accuracy. 

"Where are you going?" he asked. 

Zaknafein indicated the wide stairway with a sword, then dodged a longsword slash, sweeping the red-edged sword in a tight arc which gashed open the strange, ornate drow armor of his opponent. His opponent snarled something at him, stepping forward, but an arrow hit him in the arm. He made the mistake of turning, and Zaknafein smoothly ran him through with just enough metal to kill, then kicked him off the blade.

"Black dragon," Arundel explained to Jarlaxle. 

"Which I believe attacking just by ourselves is foolhardy," Saemon added as he drove a dark elf in a circle until the elf's back faced Peregrine and her bow. As the elf collapsed, with an arrow in his neck, Saemon stabbed him in the eye. "These soldiers aren't particularly impressive."

Jarlaxle and Zaknafein exchanged glances, then Jarlaxle smirked. "Do you think any self-respecting drow city would lend out their best soldiers to surfacers?"

"Good point," Saemon admitted.

"You want to fight a black dragon?" Jarlaxle asked as Entreri killed the last drow soldier on the landing.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else to do," Zaknafein replied with a smirk. This seemed to be some sort of private joke, because both elves chuckled. K'yanae rolled her eyes. "Why don't you come along? Maybe this time you'd die."

Jarlaxle glanced at the stairs, then shrugged. "Why not?"

**

The end of the stairs was a grassy plateau with an ornate, broken altar that looked as though it had been used by the elves to sacrifice fruit. John didn't particularly understand why some religions sacrificed fruit. Blood-sacrifices he understood, since it released a hell of a lot of power if you did it properly, but _fruit_?

At one end of the plateau, furthest from them, was a dragon that, though smaller than Firkaag, was still large enough to cause some concern. Its black scales seemed to swallow up the light, and the weary glance it shot them indicated what it thought of their ability to hurt it. 

"More of you?" the black dragon complained, still curled up, its large, oddly graceful head resting on jet-dark claws. "I ought to set up an appointments chart, or I'd never get any decent sleep at this rate."

John noted uneasily that, in a neat pile near the dragon, were several sets of armor and bones. 

"Sometimes I regret that I agreed to come onto this plane," the dragon continued on its tirade, "I should have known there was a catch in it somewhere. There's no decent treasure, and there're all of you tiresome little creatures that come and try to poke me with your silly weapons. And, since I can't figure out how to get back… " The dragon paused, and its serpentine neck coiled forward. "Hmmm. Three of you are dark elves. Have the rules changed?"

Zaknafein glanced at the group. "Not really. My…"

"Ah. You are Zaknafein Do'Urden?" the dragon proceeded to show some interest at last. "Asur's Guardian, yes? You killed a black dragon some time ago."

"I am Zaknafein Do'Urden," Zaknafein admitted coolly. "And yes, I did. He was in my way."

"Congratulations," the dragon drawled. "I never liked that one anyway. He was somewhat of a thief, and frightfully stupid." The dragon rose to its feet, towering over them, and as it spread its large, strangely beautiful wings; it cast an impressive shadow. "In the light of circumstances, we could strike a bargain."

"That had occurred to me," Zaknafein nodded. "How would you like some actual treasure to guard? Not these… trinkets." He indicated the pile with his sword."

"Hmmm. And where would you say this treasure is?" the dragon twitched its long tail curiously.

Zaknafein smiled. "In the large vault beneath my Citadel, of course." Behind Zaknafein, some of the group let out soft exclamations of surprise.

"Ah, I have heard of your Black Talons," the dragon tilted its head slightly. "Now, why would you give me that treasure?" 

"I didn't say I was going to give it to you," Zaknafein said mildly. "I propose an alliance where you'd be fed and you get to occupy the vault – it's large enough for you. In exchange, you can guard the treasure, and occasionally you can go out with some of the violent Talon expeditions. The treasure would be owned jointly by the Talons and yourself. After all, most of our investments are to increase the hoard."

"And you would strike such a bargain with a black dragon?" the dragon snapped its wings shut. The ensuing breeze swept back Zaknafein's fringe.

Zaknafein smirked. "I am a dark elf. Would you strike a bargain with me?" 

The dragon chuckled, then began to laugh in earnest, roars of mirth that echoed off the trees. "I agree, then. But are you sure that you'd be allowed a dragon into the city?"

"The Citadel is not part of Baldur's Gate," Zaknafein said dryly. "And… if you sometimes go and sun yourself in the courtyard, that would no doubt deter stupid attacks from rival mercenary bands."

"It might invite attacks from knights," the dragon countered. "Not to mention that your Black Talons' reputation might suffer."

"It won't," Zaknafein sheathed his swords. "With words in the right places, you'd be surprised how much things can change. Now, as a gesture of your goodwill… these people," he gestured at the party, most of whom still looked stunned at the elf's audacity, "require something that is in your possession. A stone harp, I believe."

"What, this?" the dragon drew out an object from the heap. "Take it. I can't be bothered to keep my promises to the mad elf mage. For some people, you can actually _smell _their insanity." With a snap of his claw, the object flew through the air, to be caught deftly by Entreri. 

"Can you go on by yourself from here?" Zaknafein asked K'yanae.

"Yes," K'yanae said, glancing at the dragon. "Father, are you sure…?"

"It'd surprise the other Grand Dukes, at least," Zaknafein smiled maliciously. "They've begun to think they can second-guess me."

"Well done," Jarlaxle murmured. "And that proves my theory. You _are_ crazy."

"Really." Zaknafein bowed slightly to him. "Jarlaxle. Why not you follow them to wherever they're going while I discuss things with my new friend here?"

"I think I'd stay," Jarlaxle replied irrepressibly, "At the most, it'd give me a chance to see if you've turned senile."

**

"That may be the most original form of tax evasion father has come up with so far," K'yanae remarked as they strolled to their destination. The fighting in the city was finishing, with the tables turned on the opposition – only a few furious battles left on some landings, the rest occupied by the Black Talon-Elf alliance. 

"Tax evasion?" John glanced at her. "Employing a dragon?"

"I'd heard that the Grand Dukes insist he pay taxes based on a fixed percentage of his earnings with the rest of them, and of course father objects to this," K'yanae smirked. "If he puts a dragon there to guard the treasure and tell them it's jointly earned, it might put a damper on the tax collectors who show up occasionally to try and extract money from father. He can always say that the dragon doesn't understand taxes – and he can continue paying the pittance he does now."

"Very clever," Arundel said admiringly. 

"Sometimes he surprises me," K'yanae admitted gracefully. "Ah, here we are…" 

"There's a demon inside," Entreri commented. The delicate staircase that arched up to the single entrance was clawed and part of the railing broken off. It also had the fading smell of sulphur. John cast the protection spell on them again, and then they entered the chamber – a high, airy room which had a tree growing in the centre, with a chest that seemed to be part of it suspended near the floor. That looked like what the priestess had mentioned – put the three items inside a chest that is part of a tree. 

The rest of the chamber was surprisingly devoid of furniture, and parts of the polished walls were scorched. A large demon crouched next to the tree, as ugly as most demons John had the dubious privilege to have seen so far – many eyes, big, gnashing mouth, lots of horns, several clawed arms, long scorpion's tail, goat hooves. In a different light, the thing might have even appeared comical, but now, where they were close enough to smell the stink of sulphur from its body, it wasn't. 

It roared when it saw them, and predictably charged. Arundel managed to get a bolt into his shoulder, and Saemon sent a smaller bolt into its kneecap while Peregrine shot arrows into its eyes. Two hit their mark, causing the thing to scream and stamp its feet on the ground, shaking the floor.

Entreri had unobtrusively moved to the chest, where he removed the three items from his new collar's dimension and put them in. When he snapped the lid shut, there was an instant quaking that knocked them all off their feet as the chest slid inside the tree and the tree itself seemed to be folding into itself.

With a rumble, it pulled its roots free, and formed them into large feet. Branches fused into arms, and from the crown, two hazel eyes opened, then a nose appeared, and a mouth.

"Jesus Christ," John swore. It rather reminded him of the swamp thing, actually, except for the fact that if you looked hard enough at this one; its edges were blurred, as if it didn't really exist on this dimension.

It – whatever it was – glanced around it with gentle eyes that hardened when it caught sight of the demon. "Defiler!" it roared, its voice shaking the room. "This is consecrated ground!" It fell upon the demon with a fury, pounding it with huge fists. The demon's efforts to defend itself with claws and tail didn't work, and eventually the thing snapped its neck. As the demon fell to the ground, its body dissolved into nothing.

"Now. Why have you called me from my rest?"

It took them a short time to explain the situation to it, after which it got angry again and stormed out of the building, breaking one wall open. As the party watched, it moved with surprising speed to the bits where there were still fighting, and began thumping the opposition with great gusto, cheered on by the alliance.

"What the hell is that?" Saemon blinked.

"Looks like a type of elemental," John shrugged. "But by the sort of power it seems to have, I'd say some minor god or something. It's not my world."

"Who cares," K'yanae summed up the group's general opinion. "Let's go to the palace gates."

**

By the time they strolled to the palace gates, whatever it was had finished destroying the intruders in the city, and was awaiting them, with Eldron, Zaknafein and Jarlaxle. 

"I managed to persuade him not to start with the dragon," Zaknafein said in reply to K'yanae's inquiring glance. "T'sal'kirmnayva is leaving soon anyway."

"The one you call Irenicus is taking energy from the Trees of Life," the thing boomed. "Go and stop him with my blessing. I cannot go to the Trees, or I would be drained as well." With that, the thing put a hand on the gates, and they swung open. "Go now, and may the Gods bless you – no, only those six should go. The Trees have spoken." 

"Why only them?" Zaknafein demanded, almost petulantly.

"The Trees have spoken," the thing repeated stubbornly. It looked straight at John. "Are you John Constantine?"

"The same," John admitted. "What do you want now?"

It stretched out a long hand, and sunlight seemed to condense in it to form a longsword of honey-gold hue. "This is for you. The one known as Irenicus must die – and this should aid you." It gave it to John. The longsword seemed to weigh nothing in his arms – but it couldn't be pure gold either, since it seemed as hard as normal swords.

"I can't use a sword," John told the thing frankly.

"That is one of the Slayer swords," the thing thundered. John winced. He was likely to go deaf if he continued to stay in close vicinity with this creature. "This one can only be used by one who is not of this plane – and that is you. You have but to call the true name of the one you wish to kill most when you are close to him or her, and the sword will take care of it for you. Beware, it has only one charge."

"Kill most, eh?" John looked at the sword. When he looked back up, his smile was malicious. "Would you happen to know the name of the First of the Fallen?"

The thing stared at him, hazel eyes full of astonishment, then it began to laugh, a pure, joyous sound that trembled through them and shook down loose leaves from the nearby trees. "I give you a tool to kill a mouse, and you propose to kill a dragon with it."

"It'd work, won't it?" John smirked. "And I doubt that 'The First of the Fallen' is his actual name. More that it's a title."

"Yes… it would." The creature's chortles faded, and it looked serious again. "Very well… though you must beware. He who destroys one such as the First must be prepared to take up his mantle, or give it to another."

"His true name is Anarazel. Beware his presence, John Constantine, especially on his home plane in the depths of Hell, for his very visage is enough to shrivel the bravest of men."

**

The party walked into the courtyard, John awkwardly holding the sword, as Zaknafein began to argue with the creature in earnest, with Jarlaxle making little comments supporting both sides at the same time. 

"Are you seriously going to go into hell?" K'yanae asked John curiously. 

"Not if I can help it," John replied. "It's just that the First of the Fallen occasionally shows up to try and kill me, especially in the world I come from." He shifted the sword to his left hand. "Next time, I'd like to be more prepared… since I pissed him off several years ago and he's not one to forgive."

The courtyard was liberally decorated with mutilated bodies of dead elven soldiers. They ignored them, and entered the open doors into the interior.

The inside of the palace was vaguely surprising. John had been expecting a large hall, or at least several rooms, but it was apparent that there was only one, immense room, which looked like some sort of indoor aviary. Birds of many colors sang, dancing spots of color in verdant trees and greenery. Flowers bloomed at haphazard intervals, releasing their heady scents into the air. Under a delicate bridge, water flowed in a gurgling brook. The place looked so wholesome that John wanted to be sick.

On the widest clearing was a throne that seemed to be naturally formed from the roots of its tree, and in front of the throne was a fountain, the centerpiece a large statue of white rock depicting a unicorn and an elven maiden. To this Arundel walked up to, reached up, and twisted the unicorn's horn.

Immediately there was a groaning sound, and at one of the walls, two wide doors swung open. They had been hidden at first by clinging, thick vines.

"How did you know that?" Saemon asked Arundel.

"I've been here before," Arundel explained, the tone of his voice suggesting that he would not appreciate further questions. "Ellesime should have been in this room – she hardly ever leaves it, except to go through there to visit the Trees, the source of her power and the life of this city."

The door opened up to a vast expanse of interlocking, massive branches thick enough for three of them to walk abreast at one time. It was a huge, confusing maze, since there were branches on top and below them that could be accessed by rope ladders. The group looked as one with Arundel in confusion.

"I think we could try going to the centre of this place," Arundel said, looking down from the branch without a hint of fear. "Some of the branches are especially thick – those are the life-veins. They all lead to the centre eventually… what in the Nine Hells is that?"

There was a huge bug attached to one of the thicker branches. It resembled a monster tick, and its fangs were sunk into the branches. As it drank from it, its abdomen glowed a sickly green.

"That could be why Ellesime wasn't there to defend the city," Arundel said. "Hmmm. We'd better kill them."

"Arundel…" a whispering, feminine voice swept in around them. 

"Ellesime?" Arundel asked, startled. "Where are you?"

"Imprisoned at the centre… do not come to me yet… please, I beg you all, destroy the parasite drinkers… there are six of them… that would release me."

"Where is Irenicus?"

"At the centre with me… taunting… hurry! He intends to use the drinkers to channel the power of the trees into himself… with it, he would be unstoppable. You have… an hour at most… " With that final warning, the voice died away.

"Ah, great," John looked at the bug with distaste. "And when you think you've invented all you can use against these things – insecticides and whatnot - they grow bigger and you get caught with your pants down."

The bugs were relatively easy to dispatch, since despite their menacing appearance, their only defense seemed to be summoning a single fire elemental that could be downed by normal weapons. After that, it was just a simple matter of cutting off the thing's head.

After the sixth, messy decapitation, they made their way to the centre – a smooth, circular platform on which there was a large cage. Inside was a beautiful elven woman in a rich dress of gold lamé who let out an exclamation of joy when she saw them, hence taking away their advantage of surprise.

Irenicus whirled with a growl. "Again?" he sighed. "It seems that I can never be rid of you or your party, John Constantine. I should warn you – I have a new ally, and greater powers." As if to illustrate this, he raised his hand, and an immense bolt of lightning shot down at John. Meri got up a shield in time for it to bounce off and ground itself in some branches a few metres away, and the mage battle began in earnest.

Irenicus was right – somehow, he had gotten even more powerful since Spellhold. Rather quickly, he got John on the defensive, even though Entreri and K'yanae freed Ellesime who joined in the mage battle with skill.

: _We're going to have to do this another way. _: Meri said decisively. : _You've got to let me through._ :

: _What? Won't that knock me out for days? _: John bit out a curse as a hail of burning stones appeared and smashed against Meri's shield. Irenicus laughed derisively as Ellesime's summoned magic failed to hurt him, or even break through his shield. Not even the golem seemed to be able to touch him, to Arundel's astonishment.

: _It may not… since I'm half of you now. It's your only chance – Ellesime is going to break soon, and I doubt you can hold out on defensive that much longer. _:

: _Fuck. _: John swore as a fireball imploded in front of his shield and, though he wasn't scorched, he felt the intense heat. For some reason, the Tree did not catch fire, though there was a sudden keening sound from all around them, as if in pain, and Ellesime raised her face to the sky and wailed with it. : _Okay._ :

The surge of power was sudden and intense. He suddenly seemed to be looking out from a bright blue haze, and dimly, John realized his feet were no longer on the ground, though in his left hand he still held the golden sword firmly. He seemed to be in the heart of a giant phoenix of blue flame that shrieked its fury and defiance at Irenicus. Dispassionately, he watched as his right arm scythed sharply away from him, and a large blue wing moved with it, slicing through Irenicus' shield. The mage jumped back with an oath, and the tips of three feathers tore out three deep scratches in his clothes. 

Blood splattered on the ground, bright beads of ruby red, and the party, realizing Irenicus' shield was gone, retaliated with bolts and arrows, though the mage got up another shield in time. Another casual slap of a wing tore that shield away, and John was obscurely aware of the fact that Meridian, reveling in her power on this plane, was prolonging it by toying with the mage. That was to be their undoing.

Irenicus shouted suddenly, a hoarse cry of frustration. "Follow me to Hell if you wish, damned one! I will be the stronger there, and there I will destroy you!" He threw up his hands, shouting one a few arcane words, and a black sheet of a portal whirled into existence. From it shot tentacles, soft and bulbous, grotesque to behold, and they drew him into the portal, too quickly for the party to react.

Meri let John down quickly, and he collapsed on the ground, indifferent to even the licks of the panther. The energy seemed to drain out of him, and he wanted nothing more but a good rest… 

With a yelp, he realized that one tentacle had wrapped around his right arm, and was dragging him quickly towards the portal. Wildly, he slashed at it with the sword, and it cut through the tentacle, shriveling it into smoke, but more shot forward to take its place. 

: _Meri!_ : John called to the phoenix, too weak to even struggle effectively. The rest of the party were having their own problems – tentacles had also slithered forth, pulling them inexorably into the portal. 

The texture of the portal itself seemed to be cool water, though it did not wet him – and John found himself unceremoniously dumped onto a large platform of red stone that smelled quite foul, of brimstone, as Hell normally did. He got to his feet, wearily, and realized that he was facing two immense doors that had a large seal on them, an enormous human-like skull whose hideous grin leered down at him from above.

John realised with a growing sense of horror that this platform was but one of many, islands that seemed to be floating out over unimaginable black space. 

Behind him were three staircases, and as he wondered what to do next, several curses and snarls marked the arrival of the rest of the group. When all of them had tumbled out – including the golem and the cat – the portal snapped sharp with the sound of wind being sucked through a funnel.

The werewolves were the first to roll to their feet, and they looked around sharply. Irenicus was nowhere to be found.

"Now where are we?" K'yanae asked patiently, though the look on her face suggested that she already knew the answer.

John's cheeks were drained of color as he turned to face them. "Hell. We're in Hell."

--

Little Notes and References:

__

Fruit sacrifices: I can just imagine. "Lord (insert name), Ruler of All, please accept this sacrifice of apples and grant unto your most devoted follower… "

__

Sunlight sword: Yeah, I know. Very trite. Actually, I looked through one of the online books about demons in the FR hell, and there were several that could fit the 'First of the Fallen' thing. FR has a weird logic anyway, so I just changed a lot of the things. 'Sammael', also known as Lucifer Morningstar in Vertigo's world, is just one of several Demon Princes (Demon Princes rule one plane of Hell each). Though of course in Hollow Years, since I have to (take a stab at) following the Vertigo timeline, Lucifer has quit being the Devil, and has retired to run a nightclub in L.A. (the city of Angels. He thinks that's funny), and his bit of Hell has been taken over by two angels, Remiel and Duma.

Anyway, here I'm assuming that instead of there just being one Hell, there are several planes to hit, so as to fit (loosely) Hellblazer's world with the rest of Vertigo… since in Hellblazer there is no mention of Lucifer, and the First of the Fallen rules Hell as they know it. In the story, the First of the Fallen would be Anarazel, also a Demon Prince, the currently most powerful one. At first I wanted to use Ahrimanes, who was supposedly the 'originator of all evil' and the creator of demons, but he has been supposedly destroyed. Ah well.

__

Trees of Life: In the game, it's supposed to be one Tree, but I looked at the branches and I was of the impression that it was many trees… ah, what the hell. This is fanfic… not professional writing.

__

Tentacles: I figured Constantine would absolutely refuse to get into Hell himself voluntarily at this bit of his life, what with him having offended several major demons, even if it was to try to get back his soul, so I had to provide some form of duress.


	22. Pick one

Chapter 18

Pick one

"Really?" Arundel looked around with a scholar's dry interest. "Somehow, it's not like what I envisioned it to be. No screams, no fires, and the air's rather frigid."

"One of the planes, anyway," John corrected. "Hell is an infinitely large place with many facets – sort of a mirror of heaven." He paused. "God, I'm beginning to talk like a soddin' lecturer." He sat down suddenly and heavily, as his legs gave. "Damn."

"What?" Entreri glanced at him. "And how do we get out?"

"Damned if I know," John admitted. "There're many ways into Hell, but only a few ways out – and most of them you can't open up from the inside unless you happen to be a really powerful demon. As to why I can't even stand up now – you do remember what happened in Bodhi's crypt?"

"I've heard of… your display," Saemon looked around again, and shuddered. "We have to get out of here." Peregrine put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and it actually seemed to soothe the pirate.

"But how are we supposed to?" John asked no one in particular. "I don't know which bit of Hell this is… "

"Find the Tears," a voice growled behind them. Everyone whirled around to see that the skull seemed to have animated; though it was still firmly affixed to the doors. In the dark sockets were two pinpricks of red light. "They will open the door for you, damned one."

"Right. Which bit of Hell are we in?" John raised an eyebrow.

"In the Testing," the skull replied, and then began to laugh, maniacal, malevolent gurgles of laughter before falling silent again. Inside its sockets, the lights blinked out.

"I have no idea where we are," John sighed. "But this seems to be another stupid puzzle, so I think we should just try to do it. Now we have to be careful – keep in mind this is Hell, even if it doesn't look like it, and there are all sorts of traps – mental or physical." He tried to stand up, but his legs failed him. "Bloody hell!"

The rest of the party looked at each other, then Arundel muttered something to the golem. "Can you ride a horse, John Constantine?" he asked.

"What? Ride that thing?" John eyed the golem warily.

"The gait is smoother than a horse's," Arundel said. "And since you can't walk…"

It took Entreri and Arundel to get John onto the horse, and even then he was so tired he could barely concentrate on staying onto it. : _Meri?_ :

: _I can give you energy… but it's only for a short while. After that your body would send you into sleep immediately. I suggest I only give you the energy for the last fight… we can only hope that it's enough. In the meantime, we can still do spells – so long as they're not the difficult ones that need a lot of energy._ :

John told the party as much, and transferred the gold sword to his right hand grimly. If he wasn't mistaken about this – soon one of the Princes of Hell would come a-calling… but this time he would be ready. He hoped.

"Which staircase first?" K'yanae asked cheerfully, refusing to let their surroundings curb her spirit. Hell was silent, without the normal screams of the damned that John was used to whenever he came wandering into it. He took this to mean that the place was waiting for them to drop their guard, and then hurt them where it hurt most.

John looked around. "Pick one," he shrugged. "It probably doesn't matter."

They went down the first staircase, which led to a huge rectangular box of a room, carved of red rock. Entreri opened the door, and they stepped inside – to see a djinni that rather resembled the one he'd seen in Irenicus' dungeon, in a small room. 

"Welcome to the First Test," the djinni said pleasantly. In his left hand, he held a black sword with a strange edge that curled in around the center then arced out again into a hook before curving towards the hilt. "There is a dragon beyond this chamber, an evil one that has been shut in Hell to do its penance. Only this sword can kill it. You will have to kill it."

"Why do we always have to kill dragons?" Arundel complained. "What did this 'evil' dragon do, then? And what color is it?"

"It burned some villages," the djinni sounded a bit uncertain about this, as if he hadn't expected to be questioned. "Color? Green, I think… "

"You think?" K'yanae asked. "Curious, isn't it, if you can't even remember the color?"

"It's evil… it's a dragon!" the djinni went back to familiar ground with relief.

"Actually, not all dragons are evil," Saemon pointed out dryly. 

"Well, if you kill it you'd get to keep the sword," the djinni tried another tack. "This is Blackrazor, a sword of potent power. Even if you just scratch your opponent with this, there is a chance that he'd drop dead immediately, and you'd be healed of some of your wounds."

"What if we kill you and take the sword?" Entreri asked bluntly. 

The djinni looked at them, then it snarled, and brought up a ring of fire around it. "Die then, mortals!"

Arundel put a crossbow bolt between its eyes, and it faded into nothing. The crossbow bolt and the black sword clattered onto the ground.

"I wonder if that's safe to pick up," John looked the sword as Arundel picked up his bolt.

: _It is_, : Meri said. : _And you'd need it for something._ :

John told the party as much, and Entreri picked it up. Once he did so, a second door opened on the wall, leading to an inner room.

Inside that room was a dragon, smaller than the black they'd seen, with scales of a dark, rich bronze. It shot them a wary look, and swished its tail. "Who are you lot? Where is that djinni?"

"He told us to kill you with this," Entreri said mildly, gesturing at the dragon with the black sword.

"Ah! The Blackrazor," the bronze dragon said with relief. "Would you terribly mind giving it to me? A small experiment got me stuck in this place, and that's the only way I can key out of here."

"Key?" Arundel asked curiously.

"I put a few portal locations inside the sword – it's a bit complicated, but it allows me to portal over planes with ease. Unfortunately, when I got here the sword got confiscated by a large demon and given to that blasted djinni, who uses it to torment me." The dragon sighed. "I've been stuck here longer than I can remember – and considering how time passes in this place, it probably _has_ been longer than I can remember."

"Can we trust this one?" John asked Arundel bluntly. 

The dragon looked slightly offended. "I'm a bronze dragon! Of course."

"It's right," Arundel said, "Bronzes are okay, though it must be excruciating for it to be here. Bronzes like water."

"Exactly!" the dragon wailed. "Please, help me."

"Would you happen to know what the 'Tears' are which are needed to open the door outside?" K'yanae asked. 

"Tears?" the dragon cocked its head. "Oh, wait." It twirled gracefully and rooted with a claw in the shadow of its lair. "Ah, here it is." It shoved them a fist-sized, light blue crystal shaped like a raindrop, or a tear. "It might have been talking about that. I found it here when I was first shut here, and tried to smash it in a fit of anger, but it can't be destroyed. Now the sword… please?"

"We don't need it anyway," John shrugged, and Entreri tossed it to the dragon with some effort. The dragon's neck snaked forward, and it caught the thing delicately in its mouth, then dropped it on the ground.

"What's in the other staircases?" Saemon asked suddenly. 

"I don't know," the dragon shook its head. "I've never been in them… now I apologize, but I really wish to go. Good luck to you, whatever you wish to do! I wish I could take you with me, but the sword is only keyed to me… I believe I'd heard the way out is the large door you said you need the tears for."

"What did you hear?" John pressed.

The dragon sat down on its haunches as it thought. "I believe it was referred to as a 'Hellmouth'."

"A Hellmouth! Of course," John muttered, suddenly remembering a bit of information that he had read about years ago and had thought he had forgotten. 

"Can I go now?" the dragon asked plaintively. John nodded, and it growled something at the sword. There was a bright flash of bronze light, and the creature disappeared.

"What is a Hellmouth?" Entreri asked. 

"What it literally means – a mouth to Hell," John said, thinking quickly. "Apparently every world – or in your case, what you call a Prime Material Plane – has a Hellmouth, an entrance to hell. Each may connect to any of the Hellmouth exits in the Hell Planes, unless you fix it with some complicated spells. Apparently the Hellmouth exits in the Hell Planes are also entrances to the worlds… you'd come out of a Hellmouth into it. I have no idea how to fix it such that you go to a specific world."

"So this is a chance for you to get back to your world!" K'yanae smiled.

"Yeah, luv." John agreed wearily. "But it's obvious why I never considered it. Right now I'm just interested in getting the hell out of here. We can go back to your world – _anywhere_ but here."

The next staircase led to yet another djinni. "Greetings, mortals," the djinni began, then blinked as he realized Entreri had pulled the stunt involving suddenly appearing with the vortex blade pointing at his throat. "Oh."

"What the hell do you want now?" Entreri growled. 

"I'm not the same djinni as my esteemed colleague in the First Test," the djinni said quickly. 

"Your esteemed colleague got a few inches of steel between his eyes," Arundel said, fingering his crossbow. "If you don't want to suffer the same fate… "

"All I was to do is to offer you this cloak," the djinni held out a cloak that, to everyone's disgust, seemed to have been sewn from human skin, or something close to it. "It would allow you to resist fear, and so fight the monsters in the room behind this more easily."

"What is the cloak made of?" K'yanae wrinkled her nose.

"Nymph skin," the djinni said.

"That's disgusting," K'yanae voiced her immediate opinion. "Entreri… "

The djinni gulped. "Look, I'm only supposed to offer you the cloak, okay? We don't have to get violent here. I'm not even the one who made it!"

"We don't need the cloak," Arundel said, "The phoenix in John Constantine probably has the Resist Fear spell… if we need that. The Tear is in the next room, isn't it?"

The djinni nodded slowly. 

John shrugged. "Kill him anyway. It's safer." As Entreri proceeded to do so, John spoke to the presence in his mind. : _A spell, Meri? _:

: _Coming… _:

When the spell was cast, they proceeded to the next room, where they realized that the monsters were actually three rather pissed-off beholders that immediately began casting spells. Peregrine had to step in at times to heal people, and Meri had to occasionally cast dispel magic on some party members that got hit by the domination spells (always unnerving to watch as a friend turned on you), but they eventually managed to cut down the floating creatures and get around to looking for the tear. After finding it in a chest – along with other healing potions that were distributed – they wandered off for the last staircase.

The last chamber had a rather disgusting demon in it that resembled a massive toad crossbred with a human, with a wide mouth full of blunt teeth, and long spines down its back. It also stank, and John could see the werewolves trying to breathe shallowly. "Well, finally," it growled when they approached, remaining crouched on the ground. "I've supposed to ask you some riddles. If you answer correctly, then I'd give you the last Tear you need. If you answer wrongly, I get to eat all of you."

"Aren't you supposed to be a sphinx?" John couldn't resist asking. 

The demon stared at him, and John mentally added one more demon to his list of demons that he'd pissed off recently. "Hah. Very funny, human. I like eating funny humans."

The riddle contest started quickly after that, John having landed the party on a wrong foot with the demon. As per normal, Arundel seemed to cheerfully know, instinctively, what the answers to the riddles were, and eventually the demon ran out of riddles and grudgingly gave up the Tear. 

"That's some talent you have," Saemon grinned at Arundel as they ascended the stairs.

"Eh… most riddles have been recycled several times over the years," Arundel admitted. "Once you've heard one version, you'd roughly know the answer to all the other versions of it, and I've been around for a long time."

**

John's heart sank a little when he saw who was waiting for them on the platform – but as usual, whenever he met this being, he felt the hot wash of adrenaline – the same reaction he always got whenever he got ready to try and cheat Death one more time and wasn't sure if he'd succeed.

Dressed in a dark, old-style Ulster coat, a black silk shirt and leather pants, the First of the Fallen was in his favorite incarnation for meeting John – a rather wickedly handsome, tall human with black hair tied into a short ponytail. John had no idea why the First always liked to appear to him this way – except for one incident involving his lungs – and suspected that it was probably somewhat in the nature of a private irony. Dark eyes regarded John with a brooding intensity. "Welcome to Hell," he said, and his voice was, as always, strangely compelling.

"One part of it," John said, glad that his voice didn't tremble. "I guess Irenicus is working for you?" : _Meri, I'd appreciate some strength right now. _: Slowly, strength seeped back into his muscles, enough for him to get off the horse without falling over. His weariness also oozed away.

"He tried to sell me your half-soul," the First said contemptuously, "But that is no sport at all, so he ended up trading his own soul for power."

"It didn't matter anyway, did it?" John countered. "You already knew he was going to Hell if he died. You only needed him to bring me here."

"And in your amusing arrogance, you are correct," the First agreed. "You have escaped me several times, John Constantine – and now you are here in Hell and in my grasp."

"I'm not dead yet," John pointed out mildly. 

"That can be arranged." The First smiled cruelly.

"You can't die in Hell," John said, desperately hoping he was correct, though there was a note of doubt here – those monsters had certainly died – or come to a state close to dying. He had heard about this somewhere. "It's a rule."

"This is the Testing," the First said, crossing his arms. "Sometimes used by the old Gods to test followers with all sorts of rubbish – and sometimes these followers are technically invulnerable on all other areas – so this place was created. It is on the outskirts of Hell proper. Death can come here… to all, as those monsters you encountered realized. And in your death – your soul will come to me, for eternal torment."

John smirked at this unbelievable, colossal piece of good luck. In the First's obsession to win John's soul, he had given John an extremely large advantage – and John intended to use it. He held the golden sword in both hands, and spoke a name, pouring into it all his considerable hatred and fear of the First of the Fallen. "Anarazel."

The sword began to pulse, and the dead air of the Testing sprang into screaming wind that roared around all of them, tearing ineffectually at their hair and clothes. The First seemed rooted to the spot as John slowly approached, the sword inexorably tugging him forward.

"You cannot!" the First roared, realizing what the sword was. "Stop!"

A barrier of gibbering, gelatinous, barely human-like creatures appeared in front of him, but the sword sang out a note, and they disappeared. The First shot intense bolts of energy at John, but they turned into doves and flew away at the last moment. Women of great beauty called to him, but the sword sang again, and the voices faded. A simulacrum of himself blurred into existence, sword raised to kill, but a note of from the sword and it vanished. The next simulacrum – that of Kit – nearly made John stop, but the sword tugged him insistently forward, singing away the magic. The horrors called up grew thicker, multiplying with each step he took, until each step seemed to be an eternity as the sword fought first to get rid of the dangers before pulling him to continue.

Finally John was in sword's range of the First – Anarazel – and he saw, for the first time, fear, pure fear, in the face of the Devil, so much fear and something else – defeat, perhaps? – that seemed to have stunned him. And John enjoyed the raw taste of power that surged in him as he saw this fear – and the sword shrilled joyfully as it pulled itself into the heart of the First.

Anarazel screamed, a sound of such deafening intensity that Meri shielded John's ears to hear nothing for a moment, and then began to laugh, hysterical, choked laughter as he stared at John. "You may have escaped me forever… but can you take up my mantle, Constantine?"

John smile was cold as he twisted the blade. "I haven't heard your confession, you bloody bastard – but I think I'd settle for your destruction."

Slowly, the First crumpled to the ground, gurgling as he clutched ineffectually at the sword, and then his body seemed to be sucked into the sword, which was suddenly and abruptly colored black – rather, an intense lack of color, as though someone had taken out a piece of deep space and forged it into a blade.

At the same time, John felt with a sickening feeling that the blade seemed to be trying to seep into his skin. He tried to let it go, but it stuck to his hand, hissing in pleasure. "Meri!"

: _If you don't want the power, you have to give it to someone… someone who can handle the power play involved in being a Demon Prince. _: Meri spoke quickly and decisively. : _I suggest… _: she placed an image in his head. 

"He's not here!" John said desperately, trying to pull the blade off his hand. He realized the others were approaching, and he whirled to face them, eyes wild. "Don't come any closer!"

: _Will him here! This way… _: Meri aided John in using some of the power emanating from the sword, opening a gateway of black.

The others let out various exclamations of shock as the gateway pulled in none other than Jarlaxle. 

The mercenary leader blinked at his surroundings, obviously disoriented, then stared at John warily. "What am I here for?"

As an answer, John thrust the blade, tip pointed at the ground, at him. "Take it!" Instinctively, Jarlaxle backed away, but Meri shot several psionic images of what taking up the blade would entail at him, and the leader paused, his expression calculating again, though he refused to take up the blade. 

"Why would you not be a Price of Hell, John Constantine?" the mercenary finally asked. The sword had, at least, stopped trying to crawl into his skin.

"Power doesn't interest me," John replied. "Only… life."

"You would have life eternal."

"It wouldn't be a life," John shook his head. "I have enough on my hands with my current enemies without gaining a few million others. No patience and no idea how to organize and run entire Planes of Hell, thank you. I'd prefer to be just – John Constantine." It was true – the power that the sword represented actually repulsed him – for if he accepted, he would have chosen a side in the struggle between Heaven and Hell, betraying all his years of balancing on the knife-edge between good and evil, living his life as he knew it. True, sometimes it was a fucked-up life, but it was his… and life in Hell, forever, definitely had its setbacks. If the blue phoenix hadn't been forced onto him, and if he had a choice on whether or not to accept the power – it may have been that he would have refused. 

Power invited corruption and enemies. It turned people against you, even those whom you would have never met – because of jealousy, envy or a host of other reasons. John much preferred to use his magic to lead a life that was relatively normal and vaguely obscure – certainly the magic hotshots in the world seldom bothered him, since they looked down on him – even some of his so-called friends. There were days where this irritated him, but he had decided it was somewhat for the best.

Jarlaxle stared at him, then suddenly smiled. "I admire you, John Constantine. Very well – I'd accept." He reached forward, and took the sword from him. The sword let out a roar of victory and assent, then seemed to melt into Jarlaxle, twisting up and out into hundreds of needle-like tentacles that forced themselves into the mercenary's skin. John looked on with fascination, unable to avert his eyes.

Finally it stopped, and Jarlaxle staggered back for a moment, staring at his hands, then back up at John, with completely black eyes. However, when he spoke, the drawl was unmistakable and unchanged. "I suppose you want your half-soul back and the contract you had with my predecessor broken." 

"That for starters," John said cautiously. "And then… you could put all of them back on their world, in the correct dimension and place – Suldanesselar, for preference – then put me back on mine. I think the Hellmouth on my world is somewhere in California."

Jarlaxle nodded, and from somewhere John heard Irenicus scream once, an anguished cry, then his soul rushed back in, displacing Meri who vacated the space hastily, muttering about the lack of prior warning.

It felt good to be whole again. "Thanks," John told Jarlaxle. 

"I'm the one who should thank you," Jarlaxle flexed his fingers. "This is going to be _highly_ enjoyable."

**

"He _what!?_" Zaknafein demanded.

K'yanae, Entreri, Saemon, Peregrine, Arundel and his golem, some of the elven council, Queen Ellesime and Zaknafein were gathered in the council room of Suldanesselar, where K'yanae was giving an account of what had happened. The rest of the group still seemed rather dazed by the events that had happened.

"He gave Jarlaxle the sword," K'yanae repeated mildly, "Now Jarlaxle is a Demon Prince. I think it's a very good choice, actually – considering Bregan D'aerthe is mostly gone, and Jarlaxle was obviously itching for a new toy - and I have a suspicion John, or his phoenix Meridian didn't come up with the choice by themselves." She shot the white cat that Zaknafein was absently stroking on his lap a hard look. The cat had simply appeared when they had emerged on the Tree of Life, and led them to the council room where it had jumped onto Zaknafein's lap, to her father's intense annoyance. 

It had black eyes with specks of white light in them, resembling a night speckled with stars… at this moment, it purred at her, neither confirming or denying her allegations.

"Considering how Constantine didn't even know Jarlaxle that well," K'yanae voiced the rest of her suspicions. "Not to mention the entire transfer and the way he got rid of the First of the Fallen seemed remarkably simple. He got the sword conveniently before he got to the Trees of Life, and conveniently, we end up in the Plane of Hell where you can get killed in, and even more conveniently, the First of the Fallen appears in it. There are probably logical reasons, but frankly I hate coincidences." The cat ignored her and began to wash its paws industriously. K'yanae sighed. 

"True," Zaknafein leant back in his chair. "Jarlaxle, of all the mortals I've met so far, probably has the best idea of how to actually survive in a hostile and devious environment." He smiled suddenly. "If he were to conquer all the planes of hell… now that would be truly amusing."

"So where is John Constantine now?" Ellesime asked.

"He went through the Hellmouth before us after a few short good-byes, headed for his world," K'yanae recalled thoughtfully. "Said he was dying for a real smoke – whatever that meant."

--

Little Notes and References:

__

On the Puzzles: I thought the BG II version of Hell was surprisingly benign. Most of the puzzles would probably be changed here, because I know what this version of John's reaction to the save-your-friends-or-lose-some-of-your-stats test would be, and I don't want to lose any of the party members, let alone two. Technically there are five staircases, but well… the object of each puzzle at the end is basically the same anyway.

As to the bronze dragon – actually in the game it looks green, but I took a belated look in the Monster Manual, and apparently greens attack with little or no provocation, instead of protesting like the dragon in the game.

__

Charm spells: I _hate_ charm spells.

__

The Devil's Confession: John once professed an urge to listen to the Devil's Confession. This was in one issue – I can't remember which – where there was a mad pastor who went insane after listening to the confession of the Devil – i.e. the First of the Fallen, not Lucifer – one day.

__

White cat: If you're one of those people who read the extremely long-winded Rewritten series, you'd know that the white cat is the manifestation of Morikan on this version of the world. He likes to irritate Zaknafein.

__

Endings: I was tired of the normal plot line: See evil mage. Let Evil mage chase you around, then chase evil mage around, meet him for final big battle, and kill evil mage sort of plot.


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue

"But Giles!" Buffy pouted. "It's Christmas!" 

The Slayer, Buffy Summers, was a lithe, rather short blonde girl with a heart-shaped face and full, sensuous lips, currently turned down at the corners. Wide hazel eyes shot her Watcher, a slightly stooped, aging Englishman wearing tweed clothes and fumbling with his glasses a pleading look. Currently she sat at the foot of the Christmas tree in the Summers house, looking for all the world like a rather put-out angel. "C'mon… can't it wait?"

"Well," Giles cleaned his glasses again self-consciously, "I… I doubt whatever's coming out of the Hellmouth would be willing to… to wait till tomorrow for you, Buffy… and you did say you booked some movie tickets?"

"Yep!" Willow, a cheerful-looking redhead bounced (there was no other word for it) in from the kitchenette, holding a batch of cookies. "We're all going to watch the Lord of the Rings." She winked at her best friend under the tree, and they both chorused, "Legolas."

"Oh, and try some of these?" she pushed the tray of cookies under Giles' nose. "They're sort of my conscience speaking," Willow added sheepishly. "For the cat thing I summoned two days ago. I'm really sorry."

"No biggie, Will," Buffy said, accepting a cookie, "The only damage that one did was when it ripped my Guess shirt." _And gave Spike a free show_, she added mentally. The vampire had been extremely appreciative – and irritating. Especially since now she couldn't stake him, since there was a chip in his head that disallowed him from helping humans – and he did help her during patrols, though the snarky comments got on her nerves.

"So… what's Giles wanting you to do?" a new voice drifted down from the staircase. Dawn Summers, Buffy's sister, peered down at them. "Buffy! Can I wear your green Gap shirt?"

"No." Buffy said automatically.

"Aww… please?"

"What was it you told me last week?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "'Sis, you have the fashion sense of a stunned pigeon'?"

"I'm sorry… c'mon!"

Giles looked around and felt that the situation was getting out of hand again. "Buffy, Cordelia got the vision that someone was coming out of the Hellmouth…"

"Yeah, a man in a trenchcoat smoking a cigarette, in the heart of a giant blue bird made out of flame. I heard." Buffy uncurled to her feet. "And you know what? I think he can wait. Xander and Anya are coming in a while, it's still afternoon and the sun is shining, so Spike, hopefully, won't be here. And you know what? All these things that come out from hell always do it at night, so… "

"We still have to be careful, Buffy," Willow said, putting down the tray of cookies on the table. "I mean, we looked in the books, me and Giles, and we've never heard of any blue birds of flame, unless you count the Chinese Phoenixes, an they're mostly gold or red. As to the man in the trenchcoat, lots of guys wear trenchcoats and smoke."

Buffy sighed. "I guess you're right." 

The doorbell rang, and Buffy went over to open the door – to reveal Xander and Anya, both holding presents. "Merry Christmas, Buffy!"

Buffy smiled, despite her irritation at the inconsiderate Hellmouth. After her mother had died of cancer – these people were her family now, and she would not allow them to get hurt. At that moment, she made her decision. "Okay, I'd go to the Hellmouth."

"I'd go with you!" Willow said quickly. "I might be able to stop it… I wrote down some spells… "

"Will… " Buffy began uncertainly. Willow had, over the years, begun to use magic more and more often, until even Giles had confided in Buffy that the magic-usage was beginning to worry him. Apparently magic was a drug – possibly one of the most potent of drugs, and Willow was beginning to get addicted.

"Hellmouth? What about the Hellmouth?" Xander asked, breaking into Buffy's reverie. "Oh no. Now? Another demon? You know, Buffy, we really should publish some sort of schedule in the demony world for you. Sort of with reminders like 'Do Not Show Up On Public Holidays'."  
"Could be one." Buffy described Cordelia's vision to them, leaving out the conversation she'd had with Angel before that over the 'phone. He'd wanted to come over and help, but she couldn't bear to have his presence close again – a physical remonstrance over the big problem she had with relationships. 

"We'd make it a group outing, then," Xander said cheerfully. "After the thing comes out, and Buffy kicks its ass, we can all go for ice-cream."

"And we can ask Spike along," Dawn came down the stairs.

"No. No Spike." Buffy said firmly. "It's bad enough I have to patrol with him at night, but this is the daytime."

"But he's coming over anytime soon…"

"What?" Buffy demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dawn's answer was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up outside – a black DeSoto, Spike's car, with blackened windows.

**

"Never heard of that sort of demon before, Slayer," Spike drawled in his cockney British, a marked contrast from Giles' accent. Spike was a peroxide blonde vampire of Master rank, with ice-blue eyes, a foul mouth, prominent cheekbones and a long, lean body that was absolutely gorgeous. Buffy tried not to think about how he'd look without his black leather coat, red silk shirt and black leather pants as she sat in the seat next to the driver's seat, with everyone else behind. Or maybe just in his black leather coat… _no! Bad Buffy!_

"Uh? Oh right." Buffy said, looking down at her hands. One axe, check. Stakes, check. Crossbow… Xander has one, check. Giles and Willow were happily discussing spells of confinement. Dawn, after a lot of argument, had agreed to stay in the house, though Anya had come along, since she had the best chance of identifying the demon on the spot, having once been a demon herself. 

Cordelia's vision had pinpointed where the demon – or whatever – would be coming out… in a place with far too many bad memories for Buffy – Angel's old mansion, where, once, to close the Hellmouth she had to send her beloved to hell with a sword and a kiss. Death would have been a gift to him in his period of torture in hell.

"Here we are, luv," Spike drove up to the mansion and under a particularly thick copse of trees where he could get out without frying. 

The interior of the mansion was dusty and lifeless, the air strangely cool. Buffy led them down to where Angel had been sent into Hell, and later come out of it, and she was relieved to find that, as yet, nothing looked out of place. 

"Well, we're early," She grinned.

"Either that or too late," Spike muttered. 

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy said automatically. "Will, is there a way to determine if the Hellmouth's been open already?"

Then she realized the rest of them were staring at her – or more specifically, at a spot behind her. Spike reacted first, grabbing her arm and dragging her back to the rest, and she tried to shout something at him, but he wasn't paying attention. 

A large, ghost-like gate had appeared in the wall, so large that the top seemed to extend past the ceiling above as if it were insubstantial. On the gate was a huge human skull, the dark sockets containing two pinpoints of red light. 

"Wow. How do I slay that?" Buffy blinked.

The doors swung away ponderously with a sound like the roar of a thousand furnaces, and though there was no heat, the room was flooded with flickering orange-red light that seemed to emanate from inside the doors – though all they could see was a bubbling, jelly-like black wall.

From this wall, a vaguely hand-like shape appeared, pushing at it, as though the wall was some sort of curtain and something was trying to get out. It was eerie to watch, as another hand appeared, then both locked their fingers together in claws and tore outwards. 

The wall ripped apart and they were assailed by a stench that nearly caused them to gag. 

"Bloody hell!" 

The accent was so much like Spike's that for a moment Buffy thought the vampire had spoken, but it was the man that was busily climbing out of the fast-closing gap in the wall, dressed in a light brown trenchcoat, a stained white shirt and dark trousers. He was of average height, with a shock of short blond hair that crowned his comely face and a sardonic set to his mouth, which was currently in a curl of annoyance. The man continued with a constant litany of curses that progressively got worse, but he didn't seem to notice them. 

The portal, closing fast, gained on him before he could pull out his legs. Seeing this, the man looked back and growled, "Meri! C'mon, a bit of help here!" Instantly, he seemed to catch fire, inside the heart of a blue inferno that was shaped like a huge bird of fire, and Buffy saw that each feather was perfectly formed, and perfectly beautiful. The wall gave, and the man tumbled hard on the ground in an ungainly sprawl, then the gates disappeared. "Bugger." Behind him, the biggest panther that Buffy had ever seen jumped out, saw them, then froze.

The bird glanced at them piercingly, then seemed to recede into the man's body. He scrambled to his feet and looked at them sharply, then at their weapons. "Some welcomin' party. Is this Sunnydale, California?"

"What if it is?" Buffy hefted her axe, stepping forward menacingly. The panther growled a warning.

The man let out a sigh of relief. "Finally! What date is it?"

"It's Christmas," Giles said, "The twenty-fifth of December, two-thousand one."

"Christmas?" the man sniggered at some irony that he saw in this. "Funny world, innit? That's _rich_." 

"Who are you?" Giles asked, frowning. 

"John Constantine," Spike snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering. "S' you, innit? The last of your lot."

The man shrugged. "So what if I am?"

"You're a Constantine?" Giles stuttered. "That descended from Kon-sten-tyn who took the throne after King Arthur?"

Buffy looked at Giles, then at Spike, then back again. "Um, Giles… so do I slay him, or not?"

The man stared at her. "Great. Why'd I _always_ run into psychotic maniacs after me blood?"

"I am not a psychotic maniac!" Buffy snapped.

"Yep. She's the Slayer," Xander piped in from behind her. "Slayer. Slays demons, see?"

"Last I checked, I was human, luv," the man said dryly. 

"Though the Constantine family is heavily involved in the darker bits of magic," Spike said idly. "Summat once told me that all of you – save one so far – lead violent lives, and die violent deaths." 

"Bit of a family curse, that," John agreed. "Me ancestor's fault. Kon-sten-tyn."

"I ate one of you," Spike grinned a little viciously. 

"What?" Buffy blinked at Spike.

"Hey, Slayer, not so fast with the stakes now," Spike protested. "'Twas a long time ago. When Angel was still Angelus… though then I was going around with Dru. That Constantine was a vicious bastard. Nearly shot off me head with a shotgun." He smirked. "I still have it around somewhere."

"If you _are_ a Constantine… and human… then why are you coming out of Hell?"

"I'm not fully human," Constantine slipped his hands into his trenchcoat pockets. "Though that wasn't entirely my fault. As to Hell – it's a bit of a long story."

"You'd have to tell us," Giles said, "So we can be… be sure that nothing else's going to happen to the Hellmouth."

The man gave all of them a once-over, then seemed to think about it. "Any of you got Silk Cut?"

Spike reached into his pockets, and tossed him a packet of cigarettes and matches. Constantine smiled, lit one, and began puffing on it as though his life depended on it. Between smokes he agreed to go along. "Not like I've got anythin' else to do now."

"But Giles!" Buffy remembered they had Christmas celebrations.

"Just one more guest," Giles smiled a little at her.

"If I remember, this one has a chock-load of enemies," Spike pointed out. "One of which rules one of the planes of Hell. Not a very good guest."

"Ruled one of the planes of Hell," Constantine corrected.

They stared at him, and he smirked. "That plane just got a change of government."

"And you're going to tell us it's your doing next," Spike sneered.

"Yeh," Constantine slipped the packet of Silk Cut into his pockets.

"What? How?" Buffy felt even more confused. 

"I'd tell you, luv… once I smoke a few more of these, get some decent beer, and a good, long shower."

**

"Lloth has spoken," Matron Malice, dressed in her finest robes and seated on her throne, raised her voice. She looked out over the Do'Urden family – if family could be such a word to describe them. Zaknafein, who did not meet her eyes, staring fixedly at the ground from where he knelt, his piwafwi shrouding the ground around him, two swords only visible by the hilts. Nalfein, next to him, mage robes gracefully pooling around him, his elaborate mage staff of a strange, magic-induced mixture of obsidian and adamantite that ended in a life-like carving of a deep dragon's head. The mouth held a circular plaque of jade in a strange shade of dark gray-green. Dinin, whose eyes darted around the room constantly, dressed similarly as Zaknafein, but whose expression was one of cold calculation. Rizzen, the patron with his pretty face and mediocre mage skills, who occasionally glanced with veiled dislike at Nalfein.

Then the females, who stood nearer to the throne – proud Vierna, cruel Briza, whose snake whip hissed and twisted itself into knots, and submissive Maya. 

"She wishes to walk a material plane of waning magic, far from ours, to gain power from it and usurp the position of the newest – and inexperienced - Prince of Hell," Malice continued. "The Council has given us an artifact of potent magic to send Nalfein to this plane, with instructions on how to open its Hellmouth in the prescribed manner and allow Lloth to walk free. This would be the first test of Nalfein's new rank of Mage Lord."

Nalfein bowed his head. "I am honored to bear this task."

"Make sure you succeed," Malice said coldly. "Or your punishment would be terrifying – and without end."

**

Shoshuna hummed a lilting tune as she closed up the playing board, while the rest of them talked about the game in the relatively relaxed tone of voice one had when one was reminiscing. 

"That was an interesting move," Morikan told GrayWolf with amusement.

"Pity it didn't work," N'avsh agreed. "And now there is chaos in Hell. I like it."

"Well, if Morikan hadn't made those high throws to get the weapon and the save-chance against mine, I'd have won," GrayWolf said a little sulkily. "As it is, the entire thing is so damned pat."

Morikan chuckled. "Well. At least my main characters are intact." 

He opened up his palm, and the figurine of a smoking human in a trenchcoat, as well as a figurine of a large panther and a dark elven female wielding two daggers, appeared in it. He closed his fist, and the figurines seemed to melt into his hands, flowing back into his spirit.

--

Little Notes and References:

__

DeSoto: Actually, I'm not really sure if this is Spike's, but nevermind. Heh. Yes, as you have no doubt guessed, I have a crush on Spike, and I'm a Buffy/Spike shipper.

__

Anya: I would like to state that I took on my nickname 'Anya' before the Anya on Buffy came out on television in Singapore. I don't like Buffy's Anya… she was cool at first, as Anyanka, the feminist vengeance demon, but after she turned human – bleh. 

__

Timeline: This Buffy crossover would be in the time after Buffy's mom Joyce has died of cancer, Season 5. Technically, if I were to follow canon, Tara, Willow's girlfriend would be around, as well as Riley, but I hate both Tara and Riley, so they're out of the story. I need Willow to be straight in this story (heh), and if Riley was in the story, he'd be violently killed, plunging the story into 'R', so he'd be conveniently out of it. Actually I hate Dawn too, but she's necessary here.


	24. Afterword

Afterword

"I'm going to rush a little," Zaknafein said, feeling self-conscious talking to the computer, and extremely irritated, as he always did when he had to help the Author with her stupid stories. "The Author has gone downstairs to meet the members of her considerable extended family, and so I'm left to talk about this story myself."

"I feel like a total idiot doing this," Zaknafein muttered to himself. "Ah hell. To get it over with – the next story, unless the Author changes her considerably scatter-brained mind, would be a Hellblazer cross with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dark Elf. No doubt the plot would get extremely obvious from chapter one, as it always does."

He took a fortifying drink from a half-full balloon glass of wine next to the computer, and continued. "Also, there will be mentions of the movie 'The Lord of the Rings', whatever that is, because the Author is currently mad over one of the surfacer elves in it. Played by a human." Zaknafein sneered. "I don't see _why_ – I've seen prettier faces, but I suppose you humans have to settle for beauty that is in human limits… " 

There was a growl behind him, and Zaknafein whirled around, swords drawn. Nothing met his suspicious eye. "Hmph. I think the Author may have put watchdogs in this room…" he murmured. "Damn. As I was saying, she likes this elf called 'Legolas'. Wallpaper on her computer, screensaver, and so far, forty-over pictures saved into the computer. She's a very pathetic person." 

The growl was louder and more menacing this time. "What?" Zaknafein told it irritably. "Humans."

"She'd just got Throne of Bhaal, but with any luck, she won't write on it," Zaknafein smirked. "I have no idea why she keeps using Nalfein now either, but I don't really care."

The voices downstairs got louder, and Zaknafein froze as he heard footsteps approaching the closed door, as well as a babble of female voices. Somewhere in it was the Author, trying without much success to divert her relatives away from her room. 

"_Vith_," Zaknafein muttered, glancing at the last thing on his list to say and skipping all the content in the middle. "Right. Merry Christmas to you lot. Goodbye."

As the door opened and several of the Author's aunts wandered in to poke at things, Zaknafein had already disappeared. At the doorframe, the Author let out a sigh of relief.


End file.
